The Snape Chronicles
by notwolf
Summary: The Harry Potter stories as seen from another perspective-Snape's.
1. Chapter 1

7

The Snape Chronicles (or Harry Potter Through My Eyes)—Chapter 1

"I take it you haven't forgotten your promise, Severus."

Snape pinched his lips tightly, willing himself not to choke the old Headmaster until his eyes bulged right through those delicate spectacles. "Some of us aren't yet senile, Albus. I remember as if it were yesterday—oh, wait. It was. Incessant carping will not make me perform better, in case you were wondering." He brushed a stray kneazle whisker off the front of his robe and turned to face the other wizard. "I shall protect the bra…Mr. Potter as if he were my own." Own _what_ was left to the imagination.

"Very well. Shall we?" Dumbledore opened the door leading to the upper portion of the Great Hall, where the staff table set. Already the other teachers were settled in, waiting for Minerva to bring in the first years.

Snape took his seat beside Professor Quirrell, rolling his eyes at the ludicrous turban perched on the man's head. _That's_ what he chose to wear for his first impression? And Albus wondered why the DADA position needed refilling each year? Heaven forbid he give the slot to a competent practitioner!

The children at the tables had grown quiet; Professor McGonagall was leading in the new students. Severus leaned forward slightly in anticipation. There was Draco, no mistaking that towhead, so like a miniature version of Lucius. No, that wasn't true. He only looked like Lucius, he hadn't any of his father's caustic-yet-droll wit. He tried, but…well, not important. He was Severus' godson, that was enough. Unless he were somehow placed in another House, in which case Lucius would murder him. Snape smirked to himself, imagining Lucius drawling, "Melodrama, Severus? It doesn't become you."

Snape scanned the faces of the other children huddled round as the Sorting Hat droned on with its song. Which one was Potter? The pudgy, dark haired one? The sandy haired boy with freckles? The instant he saw James'—er, Harry's face, he knew. Didn't it just figure the brat had to look exactly like his archenemy? Except for the eyes, which Albus frequently reminded him came from Lily. Severus curled his lip; knowing his luck, Harry would act like the spoiled, pampered, bullying shit that sired him.

Harry was under the Hat now. It seemed to be taking an inordinately long time. Severus was torn; if Potter were sorted into Slytherin, protecting him would be much simpler. He'd have the occasion to mentor him, teach him helpful spells. But it would also let the children of Death Eaters see him treating Potter differently, and who's to say they wouldn't gossip to their fathers? Not a good position to be in.

_Please not Slytherin, please not Slytherin_, he muttered in his mind.

When the Hat shouted, "Better be Gryffindor!", Severus nearly shit a brick. Was the universe out to get him? In what plane of existence did '_not_ _Slytherin'_ translate to '_Gryffindork_, _please'_? Of all the Houses, why did he have to be placed there? Slytherin and Gryffindor mixed like—well, Slytherin and Gryffindor. They didn't! Now he'd have a hell of a time getting Potter alone to train him, which left stalking him in order to protect him. Joy.

He glanced over at Harry's table to see the boy looking back and rubbing his forehead. One of the Weasley troop was talking to him, undoubtedly poisoning his mind against the Potions instructor. _Greasy git. Bat of the dungeons._ How he'd love to unleash some pent up rage on the redheaded twats. Oh, how he hated teaching.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Well, so much for the first week of class. I foolishly held out a glimmer of hope that this bunch might not be as inept as previous years. Yet again they prove me wrong. The Ravenclaws, as always, are suck-ups intent on passing with high marks, not learning the true delight of Potions. The Puffs…let's not even go there. Of the Slytherins, only Draco holds any promise, and Lucius would slit my throat before he'd allow his son's life to veer in the direction of actual work. And the Gryffindorks! God is punishing me._

_ Granger is a fawning, attention-seeking know-it-all, Weasley is a complete dolt (a bit surprising, as his brothers were all passably intelligent, despite the twins' penchant for cruel tricks), and Longbottom is a screw-up moron who will probably blow up the laboratory. I caught Potter doodling while I gave my introductory speech, which went very well if I do say so, and he naturally hadn't bothered to read the material ahead of time. I'm not yet sure if he's stupid or just lazy; either one won't get him far in my book, and if the dark lord returns it may get him butchered like a hog. There is only so much I can do despite Dumbledore's guilt trips and shameless manipulation_.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Crabbe, might I inquire as to why two from my House are out of bed after hours—wandering the corridor, no less?"

The deep drawl stopped the pair of boys in their tracks, eyes bulging. They turned as one, and to Draco's horror Crabbe mumbled, "We was goin' to the Trophy Room for the Wizard's Duel with Potter."

Severus drew his robes around himself, arms crossed, face set in a frightful scowl. "Is that so? Draco, is this your idea?"

As if he needed to ask. Crabbe wouldn't entertain an original thought if it pried open his skull and crawled inside his brain with a bottle of wine and an engraved invitation. And Potter was an idiot who likely didn't even know what a Wizard's Duel was.

"Well, I—I," Draco sputtered. "He's such a jerk! Prancing around the school with that stupid scar, everyone treating him like a king. The teachers all favour him even more than the rest of the Gryffindorks—"

"So in answer to my question, yes," interrupted Snape.

Draco hung his head; Crabbe merely stood staring dully.

"Go back to the dungeons immediately," instructed their Head of House. "Rather than punish everyone by taking off points, I shall be owling each of your fathers about this."

"But, Professor," Draco pleaded.

"Go!"

The boys took off at a run down the hallway, leaving Snape to seethe. Great. This was just peachy. Already Draco was looking for trouble, which hardly put Severus in a good light, since he'd been asked by Lucius to watch over his son. A Wizard's Duel—which at their skill level posed little danger—would be perceived as a big deal if Dumbledore got wind of anyone out to harm his precious Potter. No doubt Lucius would set his son straight, and there'd be no more such antics, but it made keeping an eye on Potter that much more difficult.

Speaking of which, he'd best check out the Trophy Room to see if Potter was there. It could turn into a good chance to give the brat detention, and maybe teach him a spell or two to defend himself.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_I should have known it wouldn't be that easy. Filch and his neurotic cat were the only ones remotely near the Trophy Room, though he told me students had been detected. He let Potter slip through his fingers. On another note, Draco is still miffed because I tattled on him for his own good and my peace of mind. Lucius made a special visit the following day, ostensibly in his capacity as governor, although I am aware he paid Draco a call in order to give him a talking-to, perhaps even a caning. At this point, I don't even care. I swear to God, sometimes I want to throttle half the population of this school. Oh, and did I mention the new broom Minerva sent Potter so he could join her Quidditch team? The blatant favoritism and hypocrisy galls me to the bone_.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Head held high, aimed at the action in the air, Severus gritted his teeth and pretended to enjoy watching the Quidditch match. To the passing bystander, he appeared to be snarling, but that was neither here nor there. As long as Harry was playing for Gryffindor, Snape was obliged to be here in case he needed defense—and heaven knew the little monster required a team of aurors at his elbow day and night to prevent his untimely demise.

He pulled his cloak about him, sulking. It wouldn't be so boring if he had someone to talk to, like Lucius, his only true friend. The only one he trusted with his life, at any rate. Instead, who did he have? Quirrell, that turban-headed weirdo, who sat behind him mumbling to himself like a lunatic! Even if Minerva were here rather than at the announcer's box, he'd be able to quarrel with her. That always cheered him up.

Marcus Flint blocked Harry, sending him spiraling off course. Severus grinned. Quidditch did have its moments. Oh, there it is—Gryffindor gets a free shot: what a surprise. If they'd knocked half the Slytherin team tumbling to their deaths, it was doubtful any action would be taken. After all, only Slytherins are capable of malice, right? His snarl intensified.

And then he noticed Harry behaving very oddly, lurching and twisting in the air the way no Quidditch player would ever do…which was probably a bad thing. Severus swore under his breath. This meant someone had bewitched the broom, and he hadn't time to figure out who at the moment. Staring unblinkingly at the boy, he began to recite a countercurse intended to hold Harry on the broom.

Harry began rolling wildly, with the crowd pointing and gasping. Another violent jerk unseated the lad and left him dangling from the broomstick with one hand. Severus shut out everything else as he chanted the spell, his mind whirling. Where was Dumbledore? He'd be able to soften the kid's landing if the countercurse failed. Heart pounding, he continued chanting, refusing to be distracted by the Weasley twins circling Potter like vultures.

Then he smelled smoke, saw flames from the corner of his eye. He yelped and jumped, twisting his head and breaking eye contact as he swatted at the flame that suddenly seemed to be gone. He whirled back to see Harry climbing back onto his broom. Something had stopped the curse. His piercing black eyes roamed over the stands searching for the culprit, then he turned round to Quirrell, only he was no longer there. Coincidence? Unlikely.

The next thing Snape heard was a roar from the Gryffindor stands, and saw Harry spitting out the snitch. Didn't that just figure? The brat nearly dies, and comes out of it a hero. Disgusted, Severus stamped out, leaving the throngs of admirers to look after Potter. He had his snakes to lecture…er, talk to about being beaten by Gryffindorks.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Oh. My. God. Just when I thought I'd get a reprieve from watching over Potter, who tries to eradicate himself at every opportunity, I discovered he's staying at Hogwarts for Christmas holiday. That means, of course, that I am compelled to stay as well. Not that I have anything better to do, but it's the principle of the thing. I cannot express in words how much I hate Dumbledore for roping me into this._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Snape slammed the door to Dumbledore's office as he barked, "You have got to be kidding me! I'm supposed to look after Potter with McGonagall pulling stunts like sending him into the Forbidden Forest with Hagrid? The _Forbidden_ _Forest_, where all manner of peril lies! With _Hagrid_! At night! This is insane! Potter could have been killed—all the children could have been—and you haven't a word of reproach for either adult in this situation?"

"No harm came to them," Albus said softly.

"Sheer luck," spat Severus, pacing in front of the enormous desk. "Draco is sure to tell his father, and what will you do if Lucius decides to pull funding from Hogwarts? His donations keep this school afloat. And I wouldn't blame him a bit. And getting back to your Golden Boy—"

"I will speak with Minerva about the wisdom of her decision," Dumbledore interrupted, his blue eyes not twinkling in the least. "I agree with you, Severus. It was dangerous and foolish, and she will hear about it. As will Hagrid," he added, preemptively cutting off another string of inquiries.

Severus stopped in his tracks, speechless. For once the Headmaster was agreeing with him, and he didn't quite know how to process it. He decided upon a snippy, "Good", and turned to the door. He paused before saying, "I've spoken to Quirrell several times. I do not believe we can trust him."

"Thank you. I'll keep my eye on him as well."

Snape nodded and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Un-freaking-believable. Harry Potter somehow managed to defeat the dark lord, who apparently has been traveling about on the back of Quirrell's head! With the help of his loyal cohorts in crime, Potter made his way to the room holding the Sorcerer's Stone, where he came upon Quirrell. From what Albus said, which is precious little, Quirrell couldn't touch Potter's sainted skin, and Albus arrived in time to save the disobedient brat. So technically Dumbledore chased off Voldemort, though he's giving Potter the credit. I suppose in his mind, word will go out to the Death Eaters that Harry Potter is a formidable foe, so the next time the dark lord grows strong enough to make an appearance, they will hesitate before attacking. Good luck on that front. They fear the dark lord far more than they'll ever fear a boy, no matter his reputation. Meanwhile, I'm still stuck babysitting the wretched little urchin. I hate my life_.


	2. Book 2, Part 1

8

The Snape Chronicles—Chapter 2 Part 1

"Hello, Lucius."

"Thank you for coming, Severus," said Lucius Malfoy, turning round to his friend. "Wine?"

Snape simultaneously shook his head and arched an eyebrow at the shiny, swollen black eye. Not since Lucius was a teenager had Snape seen the handsome face so blemished—unless one counted bruises caused by the dark lord's curses during his insane tantrums. Severus preferred not to think of those times, especially since it seemed Voldemort was on the rise again. He waited for Malfoy to go on.

Lucius gestured at his eye, making the wine in his goblet splash onto the floor. "Dobby! Clean up this mess!" He stepped over the spots and continued in a bitter tone, "That filthy muggle-lover, Arthur Weasley, attacked me in Flourish and Blotts like a deranged ape. A stack of books fell on me."

Severus came forward to examine the injury as he'd done countless times in their friendship, then took out his wand. "Hold still." He aimed carefully and muttered a singsong spell that caused the swelling to recede significantly. "I'll need to send you the de-bruising cream." The one he'd used so often himself as a child when his father went off on him, the one that on the first day they'd met he'd given Lucius to eliminate a bruise given by Abraxas Malfoy. "Am I mistaken in believing you gave as well as you got?"

Lucius' brows dipped as he studied Severus, then he laughed. "Had we been alone, his family might be mourning him now."

Snape merely smiled. Lucius may talk big, but he knew for a fact that the wizard had never killed a man, nor had any desire to do so. Reaching into the breast pocket of his robe, he took out a tiny, battered notebook and ballpoint pen; he flipped open the cover and began scribbling away.

"I recognize that book," said Lucius, craning to get a look. "It's your To-Do List. I wasn't aware you still carried it."

"Old habits die hard," said Severus distractedly.

"A muggle pen? I thought I broke you of that nasty practice." Malfoy grimaced.

"Quills and ink are unwieldy and bulky," retorted Snape.

"What are you writing?"

"To send you the healing paste and make a new batch," answered Severus, shutting the book and returning it to his pocket. "And to add de-hairing gel to Gilderoy Lockhart's shampoo. That ponce is the new DADA instructor."

Lucius nodded sagely and took a sip of wine. "Oh. Well, carry on."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Apparently Lucius had a run-in with Arthur Weasley in Diagon Alley the other day. I've rather been expecting to read in the Daily Prophet that Weasley's house has burned to the ground, or he's met with a disfiguring accident. Honestly, I'm a tad disappointed. Lucius is slipping. Mellowing in his old age? I'd propose that he's trying to set a good example for Draco, but I can scarcely write it without laughing so hard I wet myself._

_ School begins tomorrow. I can hardly wait. Too bad sarcasm doesn't show up in a different colour ink. Perhaps I ought to invent an ink or quill that can do that. Yes, in between guarding the Brat-Who-Refuses-To-Die and all the work involved in trying to cram information into those dunderheads called students, I should have no trouble squeezing it in._

_ Gilderoy Lockhart arrived yesterday. If he winks at me one more time or tries to 'cheer me up', I'll strangle him with his own scarf and dump him in the lake._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

The first thing Snape noticed was the fact that Potter wasn't at his table being flattered by his disgusting admirers. Had he not felt the nagging stares coming from Dumbledore, he'd have been absolutely delighted. However, as it appeared the urchin was evidently supposed to be here, he pushed back his chair and left the Great Hall through the entrance nearest the staff table, mumbling certain words that strongly resembled muggle curse words. Why wasn't Minerva charged with keeping tabs on the monster? He was, after all, in _her_ House.

Balancing his wand on his palm, he said, "Point me to Harry Potter."

The wand immediately spun in a complete circle, then shifted itself to the left. Alright, good; Potter was in the vicinity and alive, if that fell in the 'good' category. Jury was out on that one. The fact that he was nearby but not in the Hall indicated he was up to tomfoolery. No shock there. Besides, Severus had read all about the muggle flying car in the _Evening_ _Prophet_. It was just like that arrogant prat to arrive in an illegal and dangerous manner! Fuming, he stomped outside.

He rounded a castle corner and stopped dead, fading into the shadows. There Potter was with his ginger-headed sidekick. Oh, how he'd like to side-kick them both!

"Hang on," said Harry. "There's an empty chair at the staff table. Where's Snape?"

Severus hissed involuntarily. The little puke, so like James, couldn't be bothered to address him as 'Professor'. He felt his hand raising with his wand and forced himself to stop.

"Maybe he's ill!" Ron answered hopefully.

"Maybe he's _left_ because he missed out on the Defense Against the Dark Arts job _again_!" Harry cackled.

"Or he might have been _sacked_!" Ron added. "I mean, everyone hates him—"

Enough was enough. Stepping out of the shadows, Severus said coldly, "Or maybe he's waiting to hear why you two didn't arrive on the school train."

The looks of horror and abject fear on the boys' faces when they spun round gave Severus a warm, glowy feeling in his chest. And as soon as the brats were sent packing back home, he'd celebrate in true style.

"Follow me."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ I can not believe Albus didn't expel Potter! I expected as much from McGonagall, but the Headmaster? Oh, what am I saying? Of course I believe it! I'm frankly shocked he wasn't given a parade and a plaque for Service to Society at Large for Deigning to Exist. Oh, to have such happiness so close, only to have it snatched away. Life, you are a heartless bitch._

_ With that broken wand of his, in the past weeks Weasley has become as much a menace as Longbottom. I hardly blame Draco for the sarcastic, albeit clever, remarks about it. Poor as church mice or not, every pureblood family has got spare wands lying about from generations past. Even were this not the case, Minerva ought to take it upon herself to get the brat a new one before he kills someone. But it doesn't involve tormenting me or playing Quidditch to win the House Cup, so it's unimportant, I suppose. And Dumbledore the Benevolent—why hasn't he dug into the school kitty? Oh, wouldn't Lucius have a fit to know his money were being spent on a Weasley? Also, were it Draco who threw that slug curse, I'll bet the Headmaster would pop a vein, but he's not a Gryffindork, is he?_

_ Speaking of Gryffindorks, God forbid Potter's revolting relations had taught him common courtesies like 'Please' and 'Thank you'. The filthy little beast is unfathomably rude to anyone who doesn't recognize and fawn over his inherent 'awesomeness'. I think I'm going to hurl._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

The sight of Mrs. Norris hanging from the ceiling didn't cheer Severus even a little, despite what his detractors might think. In a very perplexing way he actually liked the cat, which had an affinity for finding students up to mischief. How could he fault her for that? He edged closer, wrinkling his nose at Potter and his entourage. Why did it not surprise him to find them here? Had they anything to do with it? Probably not, but he could hope.

He could have slapped Draco for his imprudent, ill-timed exclamation, "Enemies of the heir, beware! You'll be next, mudbloods!" Didn't he realize that it made him sound guilty? He'd have to advise the boy later, in private, and if it failed to make an impression he could always threaten to owl Lucius, who'd be furious to know his son had insinuated himself into such a disastrous state of affairs.

Ignoring Filch's wailing over his pet, Snape followed Dumbledore up the stairs to Lockhart's office. He gazed about briefly at the myriad of portraits, all as vain as Gilderoy himself. He was pleasantly astonished to discover the walls weren't painted pink or mauve or some other revolting color. He'd hate to retch in front of students.

He watched Dumbledore poking and prodding the cat; the image of Potter in place of the cat flitted through his mind and he had to choke back a snicker. He was scarcely able to contain the joyful smile it brought on, but being as this was a serious situation, he did his best.

A black eyebrow rose a touch at Albus' proclamation that the feline wasn't dead, only Petrified. Unquestionably Potter hadn't the skill level for something so dastardly; not even Granger could manage that kind of magic…being Dark Magic, she probably wouldn't even try. Pity. She was so bright, if annoying, and could rise to great heights if she let the shackles of prejudice against Dark Magic fall.

The only thing left to do was implicate Potter into the mess. It was worth a try, right? "If I might speak, Headmaster, Potter and his friends may have simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time." He couldn't even say it with a straight face; his lip curled into a sneer.

He went on to frame Po…er, illustrate the case against Potter by mentioning suspicious circumstances, not the least being having missed the Halloween feast. Predictably, Albus would have none of it. Even when Snape got Ron's stomach growling as he protested he wasn't hungry, Dumbledore failed to respond—unlike Minerva, who nearly clawed his eyes out for suggesting that the brat be taken off the Quidditch team. Honestly, that woman had issues! She was more rabid about the sport than many players.

Now that his hopes for a satisfactory turnout had been dashed, Severus was in worse humour than usual. Dumbledore's pronouncement that Professor Sprout had acquired Mandrakes was heartening in light of Mrs. Norris' plight, yet Lockhart managed to ruin even that.

"I'll make it," Lockhart butted in. "I must have done it a hundred times. I could whip up a Mandrake Restorative Draught in my sleep—"

"Excuse me," Severus interrupted, his eyes pinning Lockhart in place. "But I believe I am the Potions master at this school."

Evidently not wanting the children to see them bicker, Albus said to the three students, "You may go." They bolted out.

"Yes, Severus, I realize that," Gilderoy went on blithely, dangerously unaware of the curse waiting to reduce him to a pile of ashes. "But my previous experience dictates—"

"Previous experience?" Severus drawled, openly sneering now. "If it's anything akin to your experience with _pixies_, I'd say we were in dire straits."

Gilderoy flushed. "Whatever you've heard from the students, it's not true. I had everything well in hand."

"Severus, Gilderoy, perhaps you can argue about this another time," said Dumbledore, beginning to pace the room. He patted Filch on the shoulder as he passed by. "We need to determine who or what is at the bottom of this."

Minerva shot a sly glance at Snape, then blurted, "Draco Malfoy seemed pretty certain. Perhaps we should question him."

Snape rounded on her, forgetting Lockhart. "How dare you? Your precious _Potter_ couldn't possibly be the culprit, but a Slytherin could, is that it?"

"He seems to know what the words on the wall mean," she insisted, drawing herself up. "Salazar Slytherin wanted to root out muggleborns."

"If information or knowledge implies guilt, that leaves out your entire House since they haven't the brain of a lacewing fly," Severus retorted scathingly. "I knew about Salazar, too—does that make me complicit?"

"Professors, please," said Dumbledore, coming to a halt. "A Petrified cat does not necessarily prove that the Chamber of Secrets has been opened. It only proves that someone with strong magic is at work here, possibly trying to stir up old fears."

"You were here last time the Chamber was opened, Albus," said Severus. "What do you really believe about this?"

Dumbledore paused, then heaved a tired breath. "I don't know. There was no Petrification last time. I think we'd better be on guard. Although we have no real evidence, if the monster has been loosed again, people may die. I hope it is merely a sick prank; I fear that it is not."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Potter's been trying to gain attention again, this time with a 'rogue' bludger. Idiot probably charmed it to attack the Slytherins and it came after him instead, in which case the broken arm was a well-deserved reward. Lockhart, who is beyond moronic, removed the brat's arm bone with a spell. The Death Eaters would kill to know that curse! No pun intended. I must learn what he used. If he even looks like raising a wand in my direction, they'll be scraping chunks of him off the castle walls._

_ Incidentally, I believe I must have put the de-hairing gel in Lockhart's body wash rather than his shampoo. There were so many bottles it was mind-boggling. Not only am I denied the gratification of seeing him cry like a ninny over his baldness, I must endure his inane prattling about the new brand of body wash that leaves his skin soft and smooth as a baby's rear end. There are not enough wire-bristled brushes in the world to scrub that image from my brain._

_ And if that weren't repugnant enough, some brat-who-shall-remain-nameless-because-I-have-no-proof threw a firecracker into Goyle's cauldron, exploding Swelling Solution over half the class. Children could have been seriously injured, yet am I permitted to do Legilimency on Potter to confirm my suspicions? Of course not. Once again, the Gryffindork gets off scot free. And someone had the audacity to steal from my private supplies! If I were allowed, I'd purchase a muggle video camera to set up in my classroom to catch the nasty little blighters, then show it to the governors. Then maybe action would be taken!_

_ Oh, and apparently Albus has deduced that the Chamber of Secrets has indeed been opened. I hate my life._


	3. Book 2 Part 2

8

The Snape Chronicles—Book 2 Part 2

"Ah, there you are, Severus," Gilderoy chirped in his excessively perky tone that grated on Snape's ears like nails on a chalkboard. He flounced into Snape's office smiling vacuously.

Severus glared back. "And where else might I be? Under a bridge, scaring goats?" As the reference to the muggle fairytale went over the other man's head, he grunted to himself and lowered his head to resume grading an essay. A splash of red streaked across the parchment from his quill.

"Oh, Severus," persisted Lockhart, grimacing and edging away from a jar filled with liquid, in which the head of a rattlesnake was floating. Its fangs seemed to point at him, beckoning. "You've heard, of course, that Professor Dumbledore has graciously allowed me to begin a Dueling Club."

"Yes. Now get out."

"Dear me, I haven't made myself clear. What I meant to say was that WE are going to establish the club, you and I. I'll need someone to help me model dueling for the students." He smiled again, flashing teeth so white and shiny they actually reflected the rattlesnake's fangs. "Isn't it exciting?"

'Exciting' was hardly the word to describe the murderous expression crossing Snape's features. "Since when do you decide what I am going to do, Lockhart?"

Gilderoy got a sudden look, rather like indigestion, then reached into his pocket. "I had hoped you'd be more compliant, but…here." He thrust a folded note at Severus.

Snape stared at it as if it might explode, then slowly unfolded it and began to read the lengthy letter. Partway through he stopped, skipped to the bottom of the page, and scowled, malice shooting from his very being. "This is not Dumbledore's handwriting. His script is that of a senile, two-hundred-year-old man, not the loopy swirls of a juvenile forty-year-old."

Gilderoy gasped, anger mixing with indignation. "You take that back!"

"I will not."

"Forty?" repeated Lockhart, shaking his head in confusion. "I'm not even close to that!" Water pooled in his eyes. He pulled a hand mirror from another robe pocket, then commenced to studying his face, poking at fine lines. In a worried tone he asked, "I don't really look that old, do I?"

"Yes. Yes, you do." Snape rolled his eyes as the simpleton erupted into a wail of desperation. At thirty-one, he was a mere year younger than Lockhart, though he couldn't care less how old he looked or what anyone thought of him.

Lockhart burst into tears and ran from the room. Severus smirked and sat back in his chair, enjoying the satisfaction of a job well done. Speaking of which, he needed to finish correcting those blasted essays, not that it seemed to make any difference. One can't force knowledge into a head, though he'd sorely like to try.

He'd nearly completed the stack when an owl flew in the open door to land on the edge of his desk, a distinctive yellowed parchment clutched in its beak. He knew that paper. Disgruntled, he plucked the note from the owl and read:

_My Dear Severus,_

_It has come to my attention that you made Gilderoy Lockhart cry. I don't necessarily blame you, and I don't want to know the details. I'd prefer never to speak of it, if you don't mind. Please spare me the horror of reliving the last two hours of my life listening to him sob like a toddler as he choked out his story. That said, I ask only that you consent to partner with Gilderoy in the Dueling Club he is poised to launch. The welfare of our students must be considered; I'd take it as a personal favour if you oversaw the proceedings._

_Albus_

"If I oversaw the proceedings," repeated Snape, sneering. "Translation: One of the instructors needs to be competent."

Still, Albus was asking, not demanding, which felt good for a change. How the tide had turned. All this time, all he needed to do was cry a river to get his way? Or did that only work for Lockhart, and possibly Minerva, though he found it hard to envision that battle-axe bawling over anything less than…well, he couldn't envision any scenario. Could he manage to tear up or blubber on cue? He squinched up his face, grimacing mightily, baring his teeth. To the uninitiated observer, he'd appear to be dreadfully constipated. At last he gave up. Damn the luck, this was what he got from a lifetime of holding in his emotions; then again, did he really want to emulate Lockhart? Probably not.

Sighing, he picked up his quill, dipped it in the red ink, and slashed at a fresh essay with renewed ferocity. He had another reason to get them done, and it had nothing to do with relaxing.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Albus has done it again, guilted me into something I don't want to do. This time I'm being forced to help that idiot Lockhart train the students in dueling. While a worthy goal, one all witches and wizards should aspire to, it isn't my job. If Dumbledore saw fit to give me the DADA position, I'd teach them properly…must not dwell, it makes me homicidal. Nonetheless, I fear I must go, since that addled-brained Lockhart hasn't the slightest idea what he's doing, and he's likely to hurt someone. Then it would somehow become __my__ fault for not being there. Did I mention I loathe Lockhart? And Albus? And purple robes?_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Dressed in deep plum robes, Gilderoy excitedly accompanied the reluctant Severus to the Great Hall, chattering about himself, as usual. At least Snape assumed so; he wasn't really listening. They entered to find most of the population of the school present, wandering about with wands in hands, glancing expectantly at the door. Many faces turned to confusion or outright disenchantment when they caught sight of Gilderoy…or possibly Snape, he wasn't sure. He wasn't particularly popular, nor did he care to be.

Gilderoy strutted onto stage, followed by Snape, who waited with arms crossed at the far end of the platform, staring blankly while the other man droned on. At the remark, 'he knows a tiny little bit about dueling', his lip curled into a sneer. He'd show that poof what it meant to duel. 'Sportingly agreed' to help? Roped into it, more like, though he was rather looking forward to it the farther Lockhart shoved his foot into his mouth.

Ah, there in the crowd was the Brat Wonder and his posse. Could this day get any better? Sadly, he wasn't allowed to curse the students, but he may be able to finagle it so one of the Slytherins could do his dirty work. There, it was time! He stepped up to face Lockhart, jerked his head in irritation as Lockhart bowed gracefully, and blasted the twit with a powerful _expelliarmus_ that blew him off the stage, slammed him into the wall, and left him sprawled on the floor. Severus smirked gleefully. He'd like to do that again.

The teachers paired up the students and watched them battle for a short time, Snape silently goading on his Slytherins, and when the devastation was over and the smoke cleared, Snape suggested pairing Draco and Potter for a demonstration.

He leaned over to whisper to Draco, "You know far more powerful spells than Potter does. I'd be disappointed if you didn't demonstrate Slytherin superiority." He smirked again, at the same time Draco did the same.

When the huge black snake burst forth from Malfoy's wand, Snape laughed inwardly. The boy did not disappoint, he'd have to give him that. He expected to see Potter at least cringe, but instead the whelp moved forward and began speaking to it—in Parseltongue! Severus ignored Lockhart's pathetic attempt to remove the animal, forgot that he was supposed to be cheering on Draco, and merely stared at Potter, his mind whirling. Harry Potter was a parselmouth! Was there anything else Dumbledore had neglected to mention? Or did Albus even know? With a wave of Snape's wand, the serpent was gone; a moment later Harry was being pulled out of the room by Weasley. Severus left a minute later, in search of some answers.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ So much has been happening, I'm unsure what to think. Dumbledore claims he knew nothing of Potter being a parselmouth. I don't believe him. Rumours of Potter being the Heir of Slytherin have been circulating for months, though I paid little heed. Now I wonder if they have some merit. He's sneaky enough, though quite average as magic goes, and one of his best friends is a muggleborn, so it doesn't add up. _

_ Speaking of Granger, she'd been in the infirmary for quite some time. I stopped by once to see her covered in fur, with a whiskered face. I immediately suspected Polyjuice gone wrong, which also explains where my missing supplies went. I can't prove it, of course, and Dumbledore will take no action. It's a moot point now, as she's since been Petrified. The numbers are racking up at an alarming rate. Frankly, I'm surprised I'm not being blamed for this. And it just makes life harder for me, having to escort rooms full of brats from class to class, and there is even talk of the school closing. That might be nice, come to think of it, though with my luck the old coot will send me in search of the Chamber of Secrets while everyone else is off vacationing._

_ Lucius just dropped by to inform me he's rallied the governors to oust Dumbledore from the post of Headmaster, at least temporarily. I haven't seen Malfoy this happy since the time he surreptitiously hexed Arthur Weasley in a coffee shop and Weasley dumped his scalding beverage down the front of his robes, likely burning his most intimate parts. I have to admit, it was a jolly good show. On the negative side, Minerva, being Deputy Headmistress, is now in charge. Another freaking Gryffindor to contend with; I swear, it's like arguing with a brick wall, but slightly less productive._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Albus had been gone for two weeks, and Severus was getting used to life without him. Enjoying it, in fact…as much as he was capable of enjoying it anymore, that is. Lunch was nearly over, time to get to the dungeons and get ready for the shrill little brats to arrive. He _so_ loved Potions class with Gryffindor and Slytherin combined, as if it weren't stressful enough without the built-in rivalry. Yet another reason to be glad Albus was gone—he might now have some say in how classes were parceled out.

Snape got up, swept around the staff table, and glided down the center aisle on the way out the doors of the Great Hall. He paused halfway down, right in front of Harry and Ron, who were nearly alone at their table, and glared more out of habit than anything else.

"I expect you won't be late," he said sternly.

"Um, no…sir," said Ron, swallowing a lump of food without chewing.

"We won't be," Harry added.

"Won't be _what_?" asked Snape, curling his lip.

"Late," said Potter, furrowing his brow.

"Mr. Potter, is it inconceivable that you might use a term of respect for one of your professors who didn't happen to be in Gryffindor?" said Severus caustically.

"Uh…no?" said Harry.

"No _what_?"

"No, it isn't?" said Harry, more of a question than a statement.

Snape literally hissed. Several epithets came to mind, none of which was deemed appropriate for students, as much as they might deserve them. "Sir! The word is _sir_!"

"You don't have to call me that," Harry said innocently, and at that moment Severus knew the monster was having a laugh at his expense.

He barely restrained himself from boxing the brat's ears. "Don't be late if you value your life," he snapped, then swooped off, his robes swirling batlike round him.

He paused in the hallway outside as a shriek of terror resounded within. Chairs scraped back on the wooden floors, girls screamed, though he was pretty sure one of those girls was Ron Weasley. With a satisfied sneer, he continued walking as he fished into his robes to remove his To-Do List. He flipped the pages till he came to the right one, and read aloud in the empty corridor, "Drop live spiders in Weasley's pudding…check." So saying, he placed a check mark beside the entry, closed the notebook, and slipped it back into his pocket, never breaking stride.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Thank God the term is over, I don't think I could have survived dealing with that idiot Lockhart another week. I tried to force him to go in search of the basilisk, which was a win-win proposition: either he died at its fangs, as it were, or ran like the coward he is. Either way I'd be rid of him, though I suppose Albus would bring him back and give him a pay increase if he bolted. Loyalty is not rewarded here unless you're Gryffindor. Luckily for all involved, Lockhart's curse backfired with Weasley's wand, and he is now incarcerated in St. Mungo's Incurable Wing. I think I may treat myself to dinner in London to celebrate._

_ Speaking of Albus, he's back. Turns out Lucius threatened to hex the other governors if they didn't see things his way. I really should have known, he's been my best friend for years, but it was so out of character. Not the threats, of course, just the manner of doing so. He's peeved because he got sacked as governor, but he caused it himself. How many times has he preached to Draco to be covert in intimidation? Can't take his own bloody advice, I guess. Oh, and he's superlatively pissed at Potter, which is understandable under any circumstances, but Potter lost him that hideous, creepy elf, Dobby. I don't know why Lucius is so upset, honestly; he's hated Dobby since he was a child and the gross little thing followed him around tattling to his father on everything he did. I suppose it's the principle of the thing._

_Oh, yes, Potter came out of the dung heap smelling like roses, as usual. He managed to defeat the basilisk, destroy Riddle's diary (which apparently belonged to the dark lord and had been made into a horcrux), and save Ginny Weasley. All hail the hero. Doesn't matter that Fawkes basically saved his wretched life and helped incapacitate the basilisk, or that he got the sword from the Sorting Hat, all that matters is that Harry Freaking Potter was there to save the day. Again. What has the brat got up his sleeve for next term? I hate my life._


	4. Book 3 Part 1

10

The Snape Chronicles—Book 3 Part 1

In Diagon Alley, in his favourite Potions shop, Severus pulled his head out of a bin of rare herbs, where he'd been smelling them for quality. Only two weeks before classes were to begin; he needed to replenish his personal store of ingredients, apart from the supplies he'd already ordered for the school, but he sensed a vague disturbance, a niggling in the back of his mind like a long-forgotten nightmare come to life. There it was again. That voice. He knew that voice. Slowly, hesitantly he turned, a tiny twig lodged in one section of his greasy locks, several more falling to the floor.

Across the room, a shabby man in threadbare clothes was speaking in a muted tone to the proprietor. Even at this distance, the voice made his stomach clench. "…for this potion." He produced a folded piece of paper and handed it to the woman behind the counter, who glanced at it, then stiffened.

"Wolfsbane? Why on Earth would you want that?"

"I suspect for his 'furry little problem'," said Severus, jaw clenched so tightly the words barely came out intelligibly. He walked a few steps closer, loathing piercing the other man. "Isn't that right, Lupin?"

Remus spun round, eyes wide, jaw hanging open. "Snape." He looked as if he wanted to say much more, yet he remained silent. The proprietor had edged backward against the wall, her hand in her pocket, presumably on her wand. A moment later she was gone, and they heard the slamming of a door.

"If you're searching for someone skilled enough to make that potion, I wish you luck," said Severus with a sneer. He took in the ragged appearance of the other wizard, the half-healed scratches on his face, the slump of his shoulders. "August has been busy for you, no doubt. Second full moon of the month comes on the thirty-first, but I don't need to tell you that, do I? I suspect you won't be much good for days afterward."

"I need to be," Lupin said, suddenly more bold. "Albus Dumbledore has hired me as instructor for the Defense Against the Dark Arts post at Hogwarts."

It was Snape's turn to gape like a slack-jawed ninny. It took a few seconds for the information to process, then he burst out, "Son of a bitch! I've been there for years, I apply every bloody year, and he hands it to the first canine to come slinking in!" He began pacing as he ranted, spittle flying every now and again onto Remus' jacket. "Even now, after all I've done, he favours the likes of you! How despicably Gryffindor of him, to hand out positions like candy to his pet Marauder! One can only hope he also expects you to instruct the children on how best to bully in groups!"

"Snape, calm down," said Remus softly. A murderous stare was his reply. "Since we're going to be working alongside one another, it makes sense for us to put aside our differences."

If looks could kill, Lupin would be a puddle of slime on the floor. Severus haughtily turned his back, stalked to the door, and called over his shoulder, "Kiss my arse."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ As if the prospect of babysitting the brat-I-mustn't-kill weren't enough, wolf-boy is back. As a teacher! All these years of hell, spying on Voldemort, risking my life, watching out for Potter, and Lupin waltzes in and claims the job I've coveted all this time. If Lucius knew, he'd be spinning in his grave…were he dead, which he isn't, but that's not the point. Most of the parents would raise holy hell about a werewolf professor teaching their children. I should tell Lucius, it's only fair, yet I can't. Dumbledore made me promise not to—another of his damnable promises to protect those who actively hate me. _

_Oh, and Albus informed me I get to make Wolfsbane for Lupin—because he'd been so good to me all those years, you know. I was even compelled to make it and take it to the wolf's lair before classes began since Lupin, for some godforsaken reason, decided to ride the train rather than apparate here or use the floo like a normal professor. What am I saying? Normal? That would entail being human._

_ I had, apparently naively, hoped that this year might be better, that we might get a DADA teacher worthy of the name, and that Potter might not grate on me like the Cruciatus as performed by the dark lord. But no, everyone's beloved hero has returned, and already fainted on the train when he saw a dementor. That should cheer me, except it only signifies how much more work I have to do to keep that urchin safe. Damn you, Dumbledore, for coercing that promise out of me!_

_Speaking of whelps who hate me, Sirius Black has escaped from Azkaban. Everyone assumes he's headed here to murder Potter, yet no one else seems happy about that. Go figure. _

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Lucius stopped talking, though his company didn't seem to notice. He directed his wand at Severus' glass; the bottle of wine rose and poured until it brimmed, then he set it down. "You're barely drinking at all. You do realize, I assume, that this wine cost me three hundred galleons."

Severus looked up at him from the notebook perched on his lap, his lip curling into a friendly sneer. "Only three hundred? I thought I rated higher than that."

"Isn't that more than you make in a month?" Lucius goaded, smiling, as he downed half of his own goblet. "What are you doing?"

"Making a list of words that make no sense," answered Severus. He obligingly picked up the wine and sipped at it. For wine it was very good, but he honestly wasn't much of a drinker, and he found the taste off-putting. "Like 'disgruntled' and 'nonplussed'."

Lucius eyed him suspiciously, gripping his wand a bit tighter. Had someone Polyjuiced himself and slipped in here? Snape was renowned for not only knowing a plethora of large and cumbersome words, but for using them incessantly. "Those are both real words."

"Tsk," Snape answered in irritation. "Of course they are. But the roots aren't—or they aren't in common use. _Gruntled_. Have you ever heard anyone say that? Or 'I feel plussed.' Irrational is what it is."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Good for you. Nice to see you using your time so productively when my son has been viciously attacked recently."

"That was days ago. Madam Pomfrey healed the wound promptly, and I provided Draco with a cream to prevent scarring. He's already practically good as new." He pointed at the notebook, which Lucius strained a tad to see. "Invaluable. What is the deal with that? The prefix _in_-, by definition, means _not_, which would therefore signify that the word means '_not valuable'_, when in reality it means precisely the opposite. Bizarre."

"Severus, I don't bloody care!" Lucius barked. "We are discussing _Draco_. Not in-Draco, or non-Draco, or dis-Draco!"

"'Not in-Draco' could be taken as a double negative to mean solely Draco, making your statement redundant," Snape murmured, laughing softly at his friend's minor hissy fit. "Fine. I wasn't aware we were having a conversation at all, I thought I was listening to you plot revenge, but do go on." He quickly wrote a note to himself on his To-Do List: _Make overt, public references to lycanthropy_. Then he slipped the book into the pocket of his robe and turned his attention to Malfoy.

"Thank you for deigning to listen to me," said Lucius, acting hurt. "As I was saying, Macnair works in the Ministry, disposing of dangerous creatures. He assured me that if I continue to harp on the incident, I can have that beast put down—and himself the executioner, I'm sure."

"He does love a good killing," Severus agreed blandly.

"Maybe it will teach that overgrown gamekeeper a lesson about teaching." Lucius smirked to himself at the unintended pun. "Teach the teacher a lesson. Pretty clever if I do say so myself."

"And you do," said Snape dryly.

"Well, he's got no business teaching," Lucius said emphatically. "He's not even a trained wizard, for Merlin's sake! What has this school come to? Father always said Dumbledore is the worst headmaster Hogwarts ever had, and I can't agree enough." He gulped down the remainder of his wine, motioning for Severus to do the same.

When Severus remembered that he'd soon be headed back to Hogwarts to face Potter and the rest of the sniveling brats, he picked up his glass and belted it down in two swallows, then extended it out with the words, "Hit me again."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Snape walked into the Slytherin common room to find Draco the center of attention yet again. It seemed the stories of Potter's dementor and the hippogriff incident never got old. As usual, Crabbe and Goyle had positioned themselves on either side of him, laughing at his stories as if it were the first time they'd heard them. Given their limited intellect, they very well may not remember having heard them before. Pansy Parkinson sat beside Draco on the sofa, giggling at his every word. Even a group of sixth and seventh years, gathered near the fireplace, had turned to listen.

When the students sensed his presence, they straightened to face him, waiting for instructions or reprimands. He delivered a withering glare in all directions, making a few first years cringe. "I expect the older students to set an example for the younger, yet I see not one single book open. As I have not been informed by the other professors that I am charged with a crop of geniuses, I suggest you get to work."

"I can't, sir," Draco pleaded, holding up his bandaged arm.

"Draco, my office. Now." Leaving the room full of students staring after him in horror, wondering what evil their Head of House might visit upon Malfoy for his insolence, Snape stalked from the common room, down the corridor to his office, confident that the boy would follow. He whirled round to spy Draco entering the room, and he waved a hand to close the door behind the lad. "Sit."

Draco glanced about, then approached the desk and sank onto the stiff, unyielding wooden chair positioned across the desk from the plush, leather chair. His first instinct had been to go for the comfort, but the tone in Uncle Severus' voice let him know he'd best not press his luck just now. "Did I do something?" he asked in a small voice.

"I realize you've been hurt, Draco, and I've been more than willing to accommodate you," started the man. He rounded the desk, standing in front of the boy, arms crossed. "I don't care how much you milk this injury in your classes, but in the dungeons you will abide by the same rules as all my snakes. That includes completing your homework in a timely manner. I assigned an essay due today, and I noticed you didn't turn one in."

"My arm hurts," Draco whined softly.

"Be that as it may, you are no longer incapacitated, and you will do as I say."

"But my father—"

Severus whacked his hand on the desk, causing the boy to jump and close his mouth. "I visited your father today, Draco. If necessary, I will visit him again. I highly doubt he'd like to hear you've been slacking off, tarnishing the family name by sloth. He expects you to outperform Miss Granger this year, and I don't see that happening. Do you?"

Draco gulped and mutely shook his head. Father had been very displeased about the mudblood doing better than him, and had warned him to shape up. Last year, despite being in the infirmary for half the year—Petrified, no less—Granger still held the highest marks, and Draco feared he may just receive a good caning come summer holidays if this continued.

"Go on then. I'll give you until tomorrow evening to write that essay, and don't even consider copying from one of your friends. I'll know."

Severus gestured for him to get up, and watched him leave without a word. Draco was clever, but Granger was…he hated to say it…better. Come summer, when Draco's grades reflected that fact, Severus would run interference again with Lucius. For now, it was his job to make the boy learn all he could, make him a competent, strong wizard. He could do that.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ I can hardly blame Draco for spending an inordinate amount of time mocking Potter for fainting on the train. Nonetheless, I counseled him on working harder so Lucius doesn't blow an artery over him doing poorly in school. It's sad, since Draco's scores are very high…just not high enough. Funny how Lucius forgets that he wasn't exactly a model student much of the time when he was a boy._

_ Speaking of Lucius, he is understandably livid over Draco's injury by the hippogriff. If Hagrid isn't sacked, it will be a miracle. While I have nothing against Hagrid, he's a great oaf who frankly has no business teaching. Oh, yes, I can hear my detractors now saying the same of me, but at least I only bring dead animals to my classroom, and I've yet to have a child injured through any fault of mine. The real danger lies in the stupidity of the dunderheads I am forced to instruct. _

_ While I am on the subject of dunderheads, it has come to my attention that Longbottom's boggart is…me. I'm flattered, really, though I could do without the humiliation of the entire school picturing me in his grandmother's dress and vulture hat. Yet another thing to hate Lupin for. I think I'll encourage the urchins to study werewolves. Dumbledore can't fault me for that._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus took his place at the staff table in the Great Hall, Halloween night. He liked feasts, though as a rule he wasn't a big eater. Tonight he felt sick to his stomach as it clenched itself into knots. He'd made Wolfsbane for Lupin in August and September, and all had apparently gone well, but one never could tell. Tonight he'd taken the goblet to Lupin, only to find the Brat Wonder there…probably discussing how much they both hated Snape, or possibly how much James and Sirius _liked_ each other. Too much, if you asked Snape. They seemed unnaturally close in his opinion, especially considering Potter had Lily right there. He wondered idly if they'd shared more than a ferocious friendship all those years, and whether Lupin had been party to a trio of sorts. Snape honestly couldn't imagine any of them allowing Pettigrew into bed with them. The thought made him smirk, then he gave another sidelong glance at Lupin and the stomach clench returned.

Yesterday had been the full moon, and Lupin had taken the potion. For a day before and a day after, it was wise to use the Wolfsbane as well, since werewolves had been known to morph on those days; had the wolf consumed the potion tonight with Potter in the room questioning the sagacity of drinking anything his archenemy provided? The not knowing was enough to drive him to distraction. Any second he anticipated Lupin tearing off his clothing and sprouting masses of hair and a snout…and those teeth. He shuddered.

Nonetheless, all went well, the feast ended, and no one was eaten. That is not to say all ended well, for Severus spent the next several hours searching the castle after Sirius Black attacked the Fat Lady guarding the entrance to Gryffindor Tower in his quest to get to Potter. Severus would have loved to be the one to capture the filth, but it was not to be so. Black escaped, presumably the same way he'd entered.

A strange, indefinable feeling crept through Severus' chest at the thought of Black tearing apart Potter. Not that he hadn't considered doing the same thing himself many times, but this was different; it wasn't merely conjecture or wishful thinking, Black was actually here to do it, and Lupin had aided him into the castle. That alone, the betrayal of everyone at Hogwarts, infuriated him, not even counting Dumbledore's betrayal in refusing to believe the werewolf had a hand in it. Was it his imagination, or had the werewolf looked happy at the feast? As if he'd been planning something?

He stalked to the headmaster's office and thrust open the door without even knocking. Albus was at his desk, eyes shut, either asleep or lost in thought. "Albus, I cannot countenance this. Someone had to—are you even awake?" He stamped hard on the floor with one booted foot and Dumbledore's eyes flew open.

"Oh, Severus. What are you doing here?"

"The children will be up in a matter of hours," said Severus, closing in on the desk. "We cannot let this stand. Black got into the castle with Lupin's assistance—"

"I thought we had settled this," said the old man coldly.

"No, we didn't. I assumed you didn't want to argue in front of the prefect or the students." Severus made as if to sit, then changed his mind. Standing made him feel more secure, less like a lectured child. "How else did he get in, Albus? How did he get out without being caught? All the teachers were searching."

"There are many secret passages in this school," said the headmaster. "As I recall, the Marauders were adept at using them to elude Filch."

"Why are you so sure Lupin isn't working with his dear old friend?" shrieked Severus, tired of the Mr. Nice attitude. "It all fits! Why can't you be objective where those damned Gryffindors are concerned?"

Albus' face grew even harder, the twinkling turned to points of light that seemed to burn. "That is enough. I'll listen to no more. I know what I know, and that said, I trust Remus."

"Can't be bothered to share some of that information, can you?" sniped Snape, backing up, shaking his head. "If it happens again, then what? Do we wait till someone is ripped asunder to do anything? Has this even been reported to the Board of Governors?"

"Severus, let me handle this, please." Dumbledore got up and waved him to the door. Fearing he may use wandless magic to force him out and down the stairs the hard way, Snape backed up, then turned and stomped down the steps.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Dumbledore is going to get all of us murdered with his 'I can handle it' attitude and his misplaced trust in those damned Marauders. Just when I thought Potter was the worst of my troubles, I get an unhappy surprise. I hate Albus. And my life._


	5. Book 3 Part 2

10

The Snape Chronicles—Book 3 Part 2

(A/N: Note to non-member reviewers: I can't respond to you unless you sign up for FFN and sign in when you review. Since I do love to chat, I encourage you to sign up!)

_ I loathe them all. I never in a million years thought I'd agree with Black, but maybe he has the right idea, getting rid of that prickish Potter…if only he'd murder Weasley as well, perhaps I'd get a good night's sleep. The Brat-Who-Is-Apparently-Too-Special-To-Follow-The-Rules arrived ten minutes late to class—Lupin's class that I was given the honour of teaching while the werewolf was indisposed, mind you—and proceeded to act the arsehole, as usual. Then his dimwitted sidekick took up for him, mouthy just like his disgusting twin brothers. At least I got to give him detention. Small consolation. I assigned an essay on werewolves to the students, for their own good, and what happens? Lupin, the bastard, comes back next class and tells them they don't have to do it! I hate him with a passion so deep it burns in my toes. That or my boots are too tight._

_ Then, when things began to look up and Slytherin wiggled out of the Quidditch match taking place in the pouring rain, Potter once more made himself the object of attention by falling off his broom. Yes, it takes real skill to do that. Must be why everyone harps on how 'talented' the whelp is. To add insult to injury, Dumbledore was more upset over Potter's fright by the dementors than the time Black tried to make his werewolf friend eat me! Big freaking shock. I can't wait till this semester is over. Oh, but wait—I get to stay here for Christmas holidays to watch over Potter. The gift that keeps on giving. I think I'm going to hurl._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Snape watched Potter and his friends as they came slinking into the Great Hall for the Christmas lunch feast. As only a dozen or so people were to be present, the tables had been pushed aside and one lone table had been spread for the remaining occupants of Hogwarts. As usual, the Anointed Trio were the last to arrive. He rolled his eyes and tried not to glare too hard.

Dumbledore welcomed the children, then cried, "Crackers!"

He held out one to Snape, who eyed it with disdain, then took one end of it. When he pulled, the noisemaker exploded to reveal a large, pointed witch's hat topped with a stuffed vulture. He felt the blood in his veins go cold. Dumbledore had deliberately chosen this one to further humiliate him over Longbottom's boggart fiasco! He shoved the hat toward Dumbledore, who gleefully perched it atop his white head.

Only a moment later, the doors opened once more and Sibyll Trelawney glided down the aisle like a shiny green grasshopper in her sequined dress. Severus let out an audible sigh, which was drowned out by Dumbledore shouting a delighted welcome toward her. And to Snape's horror, Albus dropped the chair for Sibyll directly between Severus and Minerva—not that he minded being separated from Minerva, since they fought so often, but…Trelawney? Why was Albus punishing him?

He managed to get through the tediously long, two hour meal with as little speaking as possible, ignoring Trelawney's prophetic drivel as best he could by concentrating on the food. And ways to kill Potter, though that was merely a mental exercise that made him feel happy inside. He really ought to make a habit of carrying a silencing potion to slip into the food of people like her. When Harry and Ron got up from the table at the same time, Trelawney nearly had an apoplectic fit trying to figure which had arisen first, and therefore was first to die. Either one would be good as far as Severus was concerned.

He removed his To-Do notebook and pen from his pocket, a grin barely suppressed on his face as he scribbled a note to himself: _Lay wagers with Lucius over which of the brats will die._ Not that he truly believed anything Trelawney had to say, but it was a nice thought, and wasn't that what Christmas was all about?

"If you'll excuse me, I have things to do," he said, rising from his chair.

"So soon, Severus?" asked Albus, smirking beneath his beard. "I thought we were having fun."

Snape's black eyes narrowed to mere slits. The headmaster was enjoying tormenting him. "Unless the third to leave is also cursed," Snape shot back with a look at Sibyll.

She turned up her nose at him. "Scoff if you will. My profession has always been mocked." Her voice took on the faraway tone once more. "When you die twenty years hence, decrepit and alone, coughing your lungs out from pneumonia that you foolishly refused to have treated, don't say I didn't warn you."

"Is that a prediction?" asked Minerva, breaking into the conversation. Her scornful smile wasn't even partly concealed.

"I'll take my chances," Severus answered evenly. For a brief instant, he felt an affinity for McGonagall; it was odd to be on the same side for once. If only Sibyll were correct about Lupin not being with them long, he'd have one thing to celebrate. Then again, Albus went through the DADA professors like lemon drops; Lupin probably _would_ be gone shortly. "Merry Christmas, everyone." He pushed in his chair.

"I'll leave with you, Severus," said Minerva, sitting upright after leaning in to hear what Hermione was whispering to her.

Together they exited the Hall, where Severus veered off for the staircase to the dungeons. He had to get ready for the Malfoys' party tonight. He sighed again. He disliked parties, but they'd be expecting him, and frankly they were the only true friends he had. He hoped Lucius didn't insist on talking about Draco's injury again, or he just might get a rant on Draco acting like a big baby. Then Lucius would somehow turn it around and blame _him_ for ruining the evening.

As he clomped down the steps, the chilled air from the dungeon wafting up toward him, he recalled that cold night all those years ago when he'd heard Trelawney's prophecy in The Hog's Head. Albus had said it was self-fulfilling, and he knew it to be true, yet he lamented his part nonetheless. If only he hadn't carried the stupid thing to Voldemort, then Lily would be alive and Snape wouldn't be stuck watching out for her brat. James would be alive, too…not as nice a thought, though he did feel guilty for his part in Potter's death. He wished he could take it all back, but life wasn't so convenient, was it? Shaking his head, he continued down the stairs, his boots thudding and echoing in the empty, still air.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ The Slytherin team narrowly beat Ravenclaw in the last Quidditch match. I daresay if they'd lost, the rest of Slytherin House would have pulverized them for losing our chances at the House Cup. As it is, the margin of victory still allows the Gryffindorks to be in the running. Assuming Albus doesn't cheat for Gryffindor again—and sadly that is a huge assumption—we will likely win. Slytherin House has been treated as outcasts by the rest of the school for generations, they have so little to rejoice over, that it really pisses me off when their one triumph is stolen from them._

_ Sirius Black managed to 'break in' to Hogwarts again. That damned werewolf is letting him in and Albus refuses to acknowledge it! You'd think after last time that Dumbledore would have instituted new, better security. Ha. Ha. His idea of better security is…I can scarcely make myself write this…trolls. Yes, trolls, because they're not dangerous at all, they certainly couldn't crush the skulls of any of our darling students, and they're wonderfully bright. Why, I don't know why everyone doesn't have Security Trolls at their homes and businesses. That headmaster is losing what is left of his mind. _

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus apparated to Malfoy Manor as he'd done hundreds of times in the past, and landed on the front porch where he rapped smartly on the door. He'd have taken the floo, but he didn't want to get unnecessarily sooty, which clung to clothes and marked the ancient Malfoy furniture. He'd use the floo on the way home; he didn't care if his Hogwarts quarters got dirty.

The elf named Sisidy opened the door and peered at him with her large, bulbous eyes. "Mister Snape is always welcome. Come in, come in." She shuffled aside to allow him to enter, and smiled grotesquely as he patted her head out of habit.

"Is Lucius here?" he asked without ado.

"Sisidy fetches Master Malfoy," she squeaked, and disappeared with a snapping sound.

A minute later Lucius limped in, extending his hand to his old friend, the elf wrapped firmly round one of his calves. "Severus, good to see you. I was hoping we'd get a chance to talk, now that the hearing in London is over and the decision made."

"You look excited," Snape commented to Lucius, who had a definite expression of smug self-satisfaction.

"Naturally. I was successful in convincing the committee that Hagrid's creature is a danger to our children and should be put down." His smile widened as he gestured for Snape to follow him into the parlor. With some effort he peeled the elf loose from his leg, but she insisted on walking next to him, stroking him lovingly.

Severus followed, remarking, "By _convincing_, do you mean intimidating and buying off?"

"Whatever works," said Lucius with a shrug. "Sisidy, bring us refreshments." He lifted his face and it brightened with a genuine, handsome smile. "Narcissa, my love. I thought you were shopping."

"I didn't feel like it." Narcissa rolled her eyes at the incredulous expression crossing her husband's face. She strolled in and extended a hand to Snape, then leaned in for a brief hug. "Severus, how good to see you. How are things at Hogwarts?"

"Do you really want to know?" he asked, his lips puckering into a sour expression.

"Of course." She led him to one of the overstuffed armchairs and sat next to him in the other. Lucius sat alone on the loveseat looking put out.

"Well, Dumbledore is a crazy old bat, Trelawney is even madder, McGonagall is trying her best to give me an ulcer, and Harry Potter is being his usual insufferable self. I caught him in the corridor with an old bit of parchment that insulted me when I demanded to know what it was."

"Potter insulted you?" asked Lucius incredulously.

"No, the stupid paper did. It's some sort of charmed—well, I'm not certain what it is. Lupin took it. I detest him." Severus threw himself back into the chair and accepted the drink Sisidy held out to him. Ale. Much better than wine. "Why can't that doddering old coot hire me for the Defense position? No one knows Dark Arts better than I do."

Lucius raised a blond eyebrow a touch. "No one?"

"Well, the dark lord did," Snape conceded. He hid his smirk in the glass he lifted to his lips. He loved to watch Malfoy get bent out of shape over something so silly.

On cue, Lucius burst out, "I'll have you know I'm every bit as competent as you, and then some! The dark lord taught me things he showed no one else, as a reward for service."

"Do you want the position?" asked Severus cannily.

"That's not the point," sulked the other wizard.

"And I'm sure he's the one letting Black into the castle," added Severus, getting back on track. He cast an _I'm sorry_ glance Narcissa's way before his next statement. Black was her cousin, and despite appearances, he knew she still cared for the dogboy. "I don't trust either of them any more now than I did when we were students together. They're both faithless bastards."

Lucius nodded sagely. "How true." He caught Narcissa's cold stare and averted his eyes. At least she wasn't next to him, ramming him in the ribs with her sharp elbow.

"Oh, and did Draco tell you he saw Potter—or more aptly Potter's head—in Hogsmeade?" Severus said, shaking his own head, his hair limply swinging back and forth with the motion. "That means he's got an invisibility cloak! He had to have inherited it from his arsehole of a father. It explains so much about those damned Marauders, the way they'd pop up out of nowhere!"

"Are we roaming down memory lane now? Because I really would prefer not to talk about such things in mixed company," said Lucius, overtly tilting his head at Narcissa.

"I'm not a moron, I can see you," she said darkly. She did, however, change the subject. It was preferable to arguing with him later over insulting her family, blood traitor or not. "How are Draco's grades, Severus?"

"Excellent, as always," he answered, feeling a squirm coming on. "My finest pupil."

There it was, the squirm he'd anticipated in the next words out of Lucius' mouth. "Is that mudblood bitch still top in their class?"

Snape paused. Lucius knew Severus' father had been a muggle, and for some reason didn't hold it against him; in fact, he treated Severus like a brother. He dreaded getting sucked into this conversation again. Slowly he responded, "She is a clever girl despite her parentage, which I am aware you find supremely distasteful. Draco does very well in his own right, and shouldn't be compared to her."

"Lest he be found deficient, you mean?" Lucius challenged, eyes sparking.

"No, lest you become an obnoxious arse!" Severus replied, setting his glass on the table beside him.

"Lucius, there's no call for becoming angry," interjected Narcissa. She came over to him and sat beside him, stroking his arm.

"Am I wrong in expecting my son, a pureblood, to excel beyond a witch of no wizarding heritage?" Malfoy said, his jaw tight.

"You're wrong to expect him to receive special treatment from that bunch at Hogwarts," Severus said softly, trying now to mitigate the temper rising in the other man. "Dumbledore will always side with a muggleborn over a pureblood, and the fact that Draco is in Slytherin puts him at a disadvantage. All things being equal, he will lose."

"Then it's time to change things, isn't it?" said Lucius. "Perhaps I need to make sure Draco so far exceeds that bitch that no one can deny him his accolades."

"I hate to say it, but Miss Granger receives perfect or near-perfect marks in all her classes," Severus replied, watching his friend's face. "I understand that in Muggle Studies she is receiving double scores. How can Draco exceed that? The best he can hope for is an equal finish."

Narcissa leaned onto her husband, letting her head rest on his chest. "Darling, it doesn't matter if Draco's grades are slightly lower than a filthy mudblood's. What difference does it make? He has you for a father, he has your name to propel him in the real world. If you recall, you weren't exactly breaking records on the exams in school, either, and look at you now."

Lucius pouted a moment longer as he pondered that. She was right, of course. Whether the mudblood beat Draco because he wasn't working hard enough or because of prejudice at the school, either way he'd never receive recognition at Hogwarts. Caning him for it had made no improvement up to this point. And when it came down to it, the Malfoy name would open any doors Draco needed. He finally said, "Even if he can't win, I still require him to do his best. I won't have him making a mockery of the Malfoy name."

"He will live up to your expectations," Severus agreed. "He emulates you at every turn."

"As he should," Lucius said, mollified. "Speaking of which, I was quite a good Quidditch player, like Draco. I presume Slytherin is going to win the Quidditch Cup, leading to winning the House Cup this year?"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus approached Ravenclaw Tower, so giddy his legs actually shook a little. He'd captured Sirius Black! Finally, he was to receive the recognition he deserved for saving the poor, _confunded_ Gryffindork brats that Black had managed to lure out of Hogwarts and into the Shrieking Shack. Had he not found Potter and Granger unconscious at the lake when he did, who knows what might have occurred? Not that he'd cry a river if the urchins were ripped apart by Lupin, who'd escaped in werewolf form, or even if Black murdered them, but he didn't honestly _want_ it to happen.

Smiling in an almost wolf-like expression himself, he unlocked and flung open the door to Flitwick's office and went on in, wand at ready. Before Black could even turn from the window, where he'd been looking out, Severus bound Black firmly with ropes that snaked from his wand, then threw up a magical barrier to keep the demented man from trying to attack him in any form. Sure now that the dog was safe, he approached and sat on the edge of the desk, sneering.

"So, Black, how does it feel to know your minutes are numbered?"

"F—k off," Sirius answered, struggling against the ropes.

"Let me be more clear. You aren't going back to Azkaban, at least not before the dementors suck out that black soul of yours—forgive the pun." Snape crossed his arms, thoroughly enjoying the look of terror on the dog's snout. "Finally you will pay for what you did, for your betrayal."

"I never—" Sirius began, but Snape talked over him.

"You think me despicable," Snape went on. He clucked his tongue and said, "Even as much as I hated Potter, I wouldn't have done it, yet his so-called best friend…pity, isn't it?"

"It was Peter!" Sirius shouted through gritted teeth.

"Ah, yes, a dead man did it. Do you even listen to yourself when you speak? Or are you just insane from all that time in Azkaban?" He got up at the sound in the hallway. He wasn't supposed to be in here. "I'd love to stay and shoot the breeze, catch up on old times, but I'll have to content myself with making time to watch your soul-sucking."

"It was Peter, you dumb f—k! He's the rat!" screamed Sirius, struggling all the more.

"Unassailable logic in your mind, no doubt, but it won't sway me." Severus took a few steps and paused long enough at the door to remove the bindings from Black, then slammed the door shut and locked it behind him. Through the door he said, "Tell it to the dementor. I believe he's on his way." He sauntered off to find the evil creature and get this mess over with once and for all.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_I don't know how he did it, but that Potter puke f—ked up everything! Again! We had Sirius Black in the palm of our hands, he was about to be kissed by the dementors, and the next thing I knew I heard the alarm that Black had escaped. Albus seems suspiciously happy about it. He never put in a protest when Black was sent to Azkaban sans trial, but __now__ he claims Black is innocent, framed by Peter Pettigrew (of all the lame-arsed, stupid things to believe)—all based on the word of the Wonder Brat and his idiot friends. I am seriously beginning to wonder if Albus is on some psychotropic drug. _

_ The only bright spot in the entire year has been getting rid of Lupin. I announced to everyone that he is a werewolf, and predictably the parents sent in howlers and owls by the score. Will I get the DADA post in his stead? Of course not, because I'm not a Gryffindork ponce. _

_Oh, and more infuriating news—Albus has decided I shall make a visit to Potter's house this summer to check on the whelp, since I know his Aunt Petunia from when we were children. Apparently Lupin made some sort of complaint about the prince not being treated as royally as he deserves, so it falls to me to find out. As if I bloody care! I despise Black and Lupin and Potter and Albus so much right now I can't decide who I loathe more. And my life. Still hate that. _


	6. Summer after Book 3

10

The Snape Chronicles—Summer After Book 3

Wearing black muggle trousers and a black t-shirt that bagged on his thin frame, Severus approached number four, Privet Drive, with a supreme sense of reluctance, coupled with a strange jostling in his stomach that felt the way he'd imagine a squirming monkey trapped in a blanket might feel. To himself, not to the monkey, he added mentally. He stopped at the front walk to glance down at a patch of agapanthi and pansies. The garden was meticulously tended, he had to give Petunia that. The house, painted and well-kept, was virtually indistinguishable from all the neighbor houses, except perhaps in that it exuded a sense of…Severus couldn't quite place the word…ordinariness. No….normalcy. Normal. That's what Petunia would call it.

Taking a deep breath, he strode up the walk, right to the front door, and knocked loudly. A minute later he heard rustling inside and the door opened to reveal Petunia Dursley, her blonde hair pulled into a bun so tight it rivaled those of Minerva. She peeked out at him for only a second, then her eyes flew wide open and she let out a small, "Oh!" She stepped back and attempted to slam the door, but was prevented by Snape's boot wedged between it and the frame.

"Hello to you as well," he said smoothly, shoving the door open and knocking her backward. "I believe you remember me, Tuney." His lip curled at the silly name Lily used to call her sister.

Petunia's eyes narrowed and hardened. "Don't you use that name with me, Severus Snape," she seethed. Her head poked out the door to make sure no one was about, that no one had noticed the freak who'd entered. Then she slammed the door with a flourish. "How dare you come into my house uninvited?"

"Believe me, visiting your humble abode pleases me no more than it does you," he returned, black eyes flicking round the room. The place was spotless. The only curiosity he found was a boarded up fireplace in the living room, in front of which set an electric fire. Did that surprise him? No, not considering Petunia's hatred of all things wizard, including the floo network. Obviously she was making sure no one came in that way. "Where is Potter?"

"How would I know?" she shot back, crossing her arms. "Ever since he got back from that freak school this summer, he's been acting all high and mighty, talking of his murderer godfather who's watching over him, and threatening us with that madman."

That sounded like Potter, Severus acknowledged silently. Nonetheless, Albus had sent him here to check on the brat, and he had to do it unless he wanted the old badger to threaten _him_ with Azkaban. "I was given to understand that his letter of admittance to Hogwarts was addressed 'cupboard under the stairs'. Care to clarify?"

A fleeting look of guilt crossed the woman's pinched face, and she turned away. "I have no idea what you're talking about. Harry has his own room upstairs." As an afterthought she said, "You can go look if you don't believe me."

Severus ignored her furious foot stomp as he made for the staircase, then stopped abruptly and yanked open the door to the cupboard, which had a lock on the outside. Very odd. Inside was a dusty, little used closet with a broom and some cleaning supplies. Cobwebs filled the corners of the space, hardly large enough to house a boy Harry's size in any event. Shaking his head, he closed the door, slid the bolt back into place, and went on up the steps.

He paused at the top, then veered right into what was evidently the Dursleys' master bedroom. He backtracked to the smaller room at the head of the stairs, which was clean, though so packed with televisions and computers and toys and junk of all sorts that Severus wondered how anyone could sleep in there, yet the bed was large and comfortable looking. He went down the hall, past the bathroom, to the final bedroom. On the outside were holes that looked as if at one time there might have been something attached, like another deadbolt. At the bottom was a cat flap. He doubted Petunia would allow a cat in her pristine house, so perhaps it had been installed by the previous owners.

He opened the door and went in. The bed was unmade, which he chalked up to typical Potter laziness. On the desk sat a cage for Potter's owl, though it was empty. A wardrobe in the corner revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Severus bent over to open the Hogwarts trunk at the foot of the bed; inside were a maddening jumble of books and old essays, his Quidditch uniform, school uniforms. Snape dug through rapidly, finally holding up a thin, papery film of cloth that he folded round his hand, only to see it disappear. A triumphant grimace creased his mouth. The brat did indeed own an invisibility cloak, and not a cheap one. This was the best he'd ever seen.

"What are you doing in my room?"

Stunned that he'd allowed the whelp to sneak up on him, Severus jerked upright. The cloak slid back into the chest as he turned around. "Mr. Potter, always a pleasure." He couldn't even say it with a straight face, and a sneer crept into place. "Albus Dumbledore has seen fit to send me here to check up on you. Apparently the werewolf told him you weren't being treated according to your royal status as saviour of the wizarding world."

Harry stood there gaping at Snape for several seconds. "Professor Lupin told Dumbledore what I said?"

_Brat can't be bothered to even deny he said it,_ Severus gloated. "You spent a lot of time with Lupin last term, filling his head with ideas." Severus looked around the room, which was ten times better than the filthy, cramped room he'd lived in at Spinner's End. Nor had he ever witnessed a bruise or injury on the brat at school when he came back from holidays, something he himself had endured repeatedly as a youngster. "From what I see here, you're treated well enough. What is your complaint? Not enough groveling? Tea not served on time?"

Harry flushed with anger, which Snape took to be a blush of shame. "I only said they…" His voice grew weak and he flushed again at the thought of being considered a tattletale. "I said they were mean to me. I never intended him to repeat it."

"Mean? Please elaborate," said Severus. Then he added condescendingly, "That means _explain_."

The contemptuous look on Snape's face infuriated Harry all over again. He burst out, "They made me wear Dudley's old clothes that were a hundred times too big. I was a slave, I had to cook for them, and weed the garden—and they tried to keep me here last year. The Weasleys came and rescued me."

"Tried to keep you here," Severus repeated smoothly, his lips pursed. "They despise you enough to make you do chores to learn responsibility, and they hate you so much they want to keep you here rather than let you go _away_ from them. Yes, makes total sense."

"That's not what I said!" Harry shouted. "You think they treat me so special? They hate all wizards, and magic. They made me sleep under the stairs till I started going to Hogwarts. They locked me in here last summer hoping I couldn't go back to Hogwarts to learn more magic." He pointed with a shaking finger at the cat flap. "Uncle Vernon installed that so they could feed me without me leaving the room."

To Harry's utter dismay, Snape didn't come back with a nasty or snarky reply. In fact, he said nothing at all. He simply walked past him and out the door, and Harry heard the clomp of boots on the stairs. Unsettled, he sat on his bed, then leaned over to shut his trunk.

Severus approached Petunia in the kitchen, where she was wiping down an already spotless, shiny counter. He grabbed her wrist and spun her to face him, the expression on his face terrible. "Let's be blunt, Tuney. You and I never liked one another. I thought it was because you were jealous of Lily being a witch, that you resented her good fortune. At this point it doesn't matter. But now I see you treating her son like an imposition, and it will stop. Do you understand?"

Petunia, trembling, shook her arm loose and glared back at him. "Your kind killed my parents and my sister! Then you expect me to welcome that freak into my house, to _guard_ him, for God's sake? How am I supposed to do that? If your own stupid magic can't do it, how can I? Next they'll come for us—for _my_ son! Every time your kind enter the picture, Dudley gets hurt by your f—king magic and you expect me to act like it's normal, like I should be grateful to have that child in my house? My son isn't safe because of Harry, because of the enemies Lily and her bastard of a husband made, so don't you lecture me on how to feel about him!"

Severus leaned in close and hissed, "I don't care if you detest the little prick. You will treat him like a human being, or you just may get more magic than you bargained for." He headed for the door, then stopped and turned back long enough to say, "And I suggest you don't tell him that I am in any way responsible for your change of heart." He swooped out, feeling a tad put out not to have his cloak to billow. It would have made a grand exit.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"If you knew or suspected the Dursleys were treating Potter in a…less than desirable fashion, why do you insist he stay with them?" demanded Severus as he paced Dumbledore's office.

"Are you offering to be his guardian, Severus?" asked Albus, his mouth twitching in a smirk. "That's so magnanimous of you."

Snape scowled brilliantly. "Albus, I would sooner gouge out my eye with a fork than have to look at that spiky headed prat every day of my life, let alone be completely responsible for him. Watching out for him is more than I bargained for."

"But if you think he's being abused…" Albus insisted.

"I didn't say _abused_. I doubt they beat him, I've yet to see any evidence of that," Severus shot back. "But any witch or wizard would find it hard to live with a family who is so wholly opposed to magic."

"And I reiterate: are you willing to assume guardianship of Harry if I remove him from this house?"

"Are you trying to drive me mad?" Snape shrieked, rounding on the headmaster as Albus slipped another lemon drop into his mouth. "Hasn't playing the spy for you before Potter's parents were killed been enough? I risked my life time and again with the dark lord, and the Dark Mark on my arm tells me he is growing stronger, he will return. Don't even get me started on how long I'd survive if the Death Eaters or Voldemort got wind of my 'guardianship'."

Dumbledore chuckled softly to himself, shaking his wizened head. "Never fear, Severus, I can't ask you to take in Harry. He lives with the Dursleys because they are the only blood relatives he's got. That protection is more than we could offer him for now."

Snape stopped pacing long enough to glare at the other man. "So all this was just to torment me? Making me go to that house, pretending to set Potter into my care—all for your amusement?"

Eyes twinkling behind his half-moon glasses, Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "No. I really did need to know that Harry is safe with the Dursleys. If I had discovered otherwise…" He paused, looking off into the distance for a moment. "I'd have made a visit of my own, I suppose, and I honestly can't say what the outcome might have been. Thank you, Severus, for doing this for me."

Snape scowled again. He hated it when Albus acted in a conciliatory fashion; it made it so much harder to be furious with him, even when he deserved it. He jerked his head in a nod and headed for the door. "I'm going home for the summer. I'd appreciate some time alone, if you don't mind."

"Have a good holiday," said Albus, popping another candy into his mouth. "Oh, cherry lemonade! I love it when they mix up the flavors."

As Severus stomped down the stairs, he pulled his To-Do notebook from his pocket and jotted: _Spike the old goat's lemon drops with Veritaserum so I can get some straight talk once in a while._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"…and from what Dumbledore claims—and Merlin knows I can't trust half of it—Peter Pettigrew is alive and well, living as a rat somewhere now that he's escaped from Weasley," Severus finished. He threw a stone from the Malfoy garden into the pond with a 'plop'. He wished it had been Black gurgling down into the water. "So we're supposed to believe the word of three idiot teenagers who likely were _confunded_ by Black, but that's okay because one of them is Harry freaking Potter. Everything that drips from his mouth is truth incarnate."

Lucius shrugged noncommittally and took a sip from the goblet of wine he'd carried out with him when Snape said he'd like to get some fresh air. That alone was a tipoff of something amiss, since Severus practically lived in the dungeons, and fresh air and sunshine were anathema to him.

Severus didn't seem to notice the lack of response, he merely continued, "I should have drugged Potter with Veritaserum and made him tell the truth."

"There are ways to overcome Veritaserum, as you recall," said Lucius. "The dark lord taught all of us."

Snape looked at him, face scrunched in contemptuous confusion. "Are you implying a feeble-minded Gryffindork like Potter is privy to that knowledge?"

"Good point," conceded Lucius. He took another swig. "I doubt you want to hear this, but it's not unreasonable to believe Pettigrew turned on the Potters. I guess I ought to have suspected the rat from the start, but you know Black—he's got that criminal mentality. It's not a stretch to think he'd go off the deep end and murder his friends."

"As if you need to remind me of his homicidal capacity," said Severus, leaning against a nearby tree and staring into the water. Suddenly he pushed himself from the tree and looked at Malfoy, a thought dawning on him. "What do you mean you should have known about 'the rat'? How could you know?"

Malfoy let out an uncomfortable laugh. "Funny story. Well, you won't think so, I'm sure. You do have a terrible lack of humour at times—"

"Lucius!"

Lucius polished off the rest of his wine, then lowered the glass and faced Snape. "Now don't become overwrought, but many of us in the dark lord's circle were aware of Pettigrew's…how shall I put this…loyalties? It's rather the opposite, since he possessed no true loyalties." He rolled his eyes at the murderous expression aimed his way, and went on, "I—and many others—saw Pettigrew speaking to the dark lord on occasion. Bellatrix told me he was a spy, and though a slimy rat he was proving useful by giving information to the dark lord. Knowing he was a so-called friend of the Potters, it just should have registered with me that he was the one responsible for divulging their location."

"You're just telling me this NOW?" Snape shrieked. "All these years you knew Pettigrew was a traitor and you never saw fit to let your best friend in on that?"

"We were warned not to speak of it, even amongst ourselves," said Lucius simply. All Death Eaters knew the consequences of disobeying an order of their master. "Once he was presumed dead, killed by Black, it didn't much matter, did it?"

"Lily was murdered," Severus said through gritted teeth. "It mattered to me."

"Filthy mudblood," Lucius said under his breath.

"What?"

"I said you need to get over that mudblood. She's been dead for over twelve years, Severus—and Merlin's ghost, it's not even like she treated you with a semblance of decency! I cannot for the life of me understand her hold on you."

"I'm not asking you to understand it." Severus began walking back toward the manor.

Lucius followed him, heaving a disgruntled sigh. "What's done is done. You should be concentrating on finding Pettigrew if you're so upset."

Severus snorted loudly. "You think he's going to hang around waiting for all those Death Eaters to hunt him down for being responsible for the dark lord's passing? He's run off far away, no doubt."

"What about Black?"

"What about him?"

"If he's innocent, why is the Ministry still looking for him as an escaped convict?" asked Lucius, cocking an eyebrow.

Severus whirled to face him. "Maybe because they don't know Pettigrew was in the dark lord's pocket. They don't have anyone to let them in on that fact."

"Don't look at me!" Lucius retorted, striding past. "I'm not sticking my neck out for him or any other piece of rubbish. And as if you care that Black spent all those years in prison."

Severus gave a light shrug. "Not really. He deserved it for all the hell he put me through, and for trying to kill me. But I won't actively help put him back in Azkaban."

"No one's asking you to," replied Lucius, smirking. "Let's not talk of this anymore, shall we? Narcissa has ordered a lovely lunch prepared, and I for one am hungry."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Albus forced me to go check up on Potter this summer. As it turns out, he hasn't been abused as the werewolf claimed, though it appears the Dursleys have been mistreating the brat in other ways. I'm genuinely shocked. I naturally assumed he was greeted with open arms and treated like royalty. Colour me wrong. I still can't stand him, but I won't watch any child be brutalized or dehumanized when I can prevent it…even if it is an indolent, cheeky whelp. _

_ Sirius Black truly is innocent of the Potters' deaths. I can scarcely believe I am writing that after all these years of believing the opposite. I haven't quite gotten over being pissed at Lucius for not telling me years ago about Peter Pettigrew. Voldemort commanded them not to say anything, I get that, but he knows my situation. If Narcissa found out that her cousin was innocent, she'd demand that Lucius do something, though what he could do remains a mystery. _

_Summer has passed much too quickly, as it always does. Soon I must head back to Hogwarts and prepare for the onslaught of new urchins, eager to drive me mad with their foolish and dangerous ways. If I didn't love potions so much, it wouldn't be so bad, but to see the pupils so cavalier, so nonchalant…makes me want to wring a few necks. I honestly can't believe no one has managed to blow up the laboratory yet, though Longbottom gave it his best shot. Oh, Merlin, he's going to be there again! The idea of Potter was bad enough, but Longbottom, the Weasleys, know-it-all Granger, Albus…I hate my job. And my life._


	7. Book 4 Part 1

9

The Snape Chronicles—Book 4 Part 1

_ The muffled knock at the tent flap door sounded more like a bird pecking a leaf on a tree, but its insistence prompted Narcissa to draw her wand and head over cautiously. "Who's there?"_

_ Lucius poked his head in at the same time Macnair bellowed, "It's me, Narcissa! Brought your pissed slob of a hubby home." He guffawed as Lucius shoved him backward and out of the tent._

_ Lucius automatically smoothed down his disheveled hair, eyes gleaming with liquor and mischief. "Hi, honey. We've been celebrating Ireland's win."_

_ "So I see," she replied coldly, her own blue eyes sparking with anger. "And public drunkenness is a good way to do that, I suppose."_

_ He flushed in the dim light. "It's not a common occurrence, darling." One hand brushed her cheek and she slapped it away. He cleared his throat. "Now you're upset."_

_ "Oh? What gave it away?" Narcissa clipped. "It's not bad enough I've been waiting for you for hours, now you come back inebriated and smelling of cheap beer and champagne."_

_ "That was very expensive beer and champagne, if you must know," Lucius countered._

_ In the background, Draco roused from his bed at hearing the commotion and stumbled into the main room where Lucius and Narcissa faced each other. He hated it when his parents argued. Trying to blend into the tent, he took a step back and collided with one of the pans holding burning flames at waist height to illuminate the area with a soft light. He hissed at the hot touch, and both parents turned to look at him._

_ "Draco, did you burn yourself?" asked Narcissa._

_ "It's nothing," he said quietly. "May I go outside?"_

_ "Don't want to hear your mum yell at me, son?" asked Lucius, winking. _

_ "No, you may not wander outside. It's very late, and who knows what kind of people are lurking about. Don't worry, we won't be arguing. I'm apparating home." So saying, Narcissa stomped to the entrance of the tent and glanced back at Draco. "Are you coming?"_

_ "I sort of wanted to see my friends in the morning," Draco hedged with a hint of guilt. He felt as if he were taking Father's side, even though he wasn't. "I can stay with Father tonight."_

_ "Narcissa, please don't be like this," Lucius pleaded. "What will people think if you leave me like this?"_

_ Her withering expression scalded him. "You should have thought about what people might think before you decided to abandon me for the night while you got soused. And I'd hardly call it leaving you. I'm still your wife."_

_ "But—"_

_ "We've been over this in the past, Lucius! I cannot and will not tolerate this behaviour. And I certainly don't plan to let you into my bed tonight. Good night." She threw the flap aside and stormed out. A moment later they heard the popping sound of apparation. _

_ Lucius flopped down on a large throw pillow next to the tent wall. "Should I go after her?" he asked to the air, forgetting Draco was even there._

_ "Probably not," said the boy, making Lucius start. "She won't listen to you till you're sober."_

_ Lucius nodded woodenly. He didn't make a habit of getting drunk, but the few times he had, Narcissa had pitched a fit. He crossed his arms to sulk. Why did she have to be such a bitch about it? He was a good husband in every fashion: he took care of her, cherished her, complimented her, never raised a hand to her, never cheated on her. Was he expected to be perfect, for crying out loud? _

_Suddenly he let out a particularly vile expletive, then said to his son, "Draco, go into the wood and stay there till I come to get you."_

_ Puzzled, Draco squinted at his father in the dim light. "Why?"_

_ "Just do it! Get dressed and go now. Wait by the huge oak we saw yesterday." He stumbled to the front of the tent and exited, leaving the boy to do as he was told. He had some old Death Eater friends to speak to; surely someone was up for a spot of muggle baiting._

Severus let out a long, low breath of air. "So you were the one leading the gang that trashed the Quidditch site and burned down tents? Lucius, you should know better."

Malfoy shrugged. "What's the big deal? No one was hurt, we had some fun."

"The muggles didn't have fun," Severus reminded him.

Lucius broke into a laugh just remembering. "That was hilarious. It wasn't even my idea—the spinning them part, anyway."

"Lucius, they're people! You could have seriously injured them."

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Do you have to be such a wet blanket? You sound like Narcissa now."

"Did you leave the Dark Mark in the sky as well?"

"No," said Lucius, and his demeanor changed to uncomfortable. "None of us did, which begs the question of who it might have been." The moment he'd noticed it, he'd poked the man beside him; within seconds they were all gaping up in horror, right before they all started disapparating—and just in time, for he'd caught sight of Weasley running their way with a slew of Ministry folk. He barely apparated fast enough to the wood to pick up Draco, then to the manor. "Do you have any idea who it was?"

"No." Severus' brows dipped and he bent his head forward, his hair hanging in curtains on either side of him, shielding his face from his friend. Albus claimed to have no knowledge of who it was, either, but he'd learned not to always trust everything Albus said. "If I find out, I'll let you know." He picked up the bundle of herbs he'd bought at Diagon Alley before coming here and gestured toward the door. "I'll see you soon."

"Severus, this is off topic, but since you're headed back to Hogwarts to prepare for the school year, perhaps you could talk to Dumbledore about the Triwizard Tournament," said Lucius as the pair walked through the foyer of his home. "Draco had his heart set on participating, but the age limit this time…"

"No." Severus stopped and turned to peer at Lucius. "The rules have been set for good reason. Many young wizards and witches have died in the past in these tournaments, and despite the added precautions, I do not believe it is foolproof. Neither you nor Narcissa nor I want anything to happen to Draco, so it is for the best."

Malfoy smiled warmly at him and held out his hand, which Severus shook. "I had to ask so I could tell Draco I tried. Keep an eye on him, will you?"

"As always," said Snape, and swooped out the door.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Just when I thought Dumbledore could sink no lower, he did. He's hired Alastor Moody for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Does that old codger—and I mean Dumbledore here—not realize that Moody hates me? He knows I was a Death Eater! Then again, when has the benevolent Headmaster ever considered my feelings or opinions? When I saw Moody show up at the feast, I nearly shit a brick. Poofs, nances, and werewolves were bad enough, but now I need to be looking over my shoulder all the time to make sure that insane old fart isn't trying to kill me!_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Moody showed up in the halls of the dungeons, Draco in tow, and stopped as he glanced around, his magic eye spinning wildly. "Which way is his office, boy?" he asked gruffly. His hand, latched in a death grip on Draco's bicep, shook the lad roughly.

"There," said Draco, pointing to the left. He winced at the pain shooting up his arm.

They moved down the corridor and turned into the open door, where Severus was working at his desk. He looked up, taking in the scene in a glance, and stood. "Let go of my charge," he said in a silky voice.

Moody suddenly let Draco go, and he almost fell onto the stone floor. "Snape. So good to see you outside of Azkaban," said Moody sarcastically.

"Always a pleasure to meet you as well," Snape retorted, twisting his mouth into a sneer. "Might I inquire as to why you are manhandling one of my students?"

"He turned me into a ferret and pounded me on the rocks!" Draco shrieked, ducking when the auror spun in his direction.

Snape's fathomless black eyes gave a minute glint and narrowed. "Are you alright, Mr. Malfoy?"

Draco, looking stricken and disheveled, assessed any damage done to his body and nodded numbly. "I guess so. Just bruised. But it was embarrassing—he did it in front of Potter and the mudblood."

Severus made a waving gesture with his hand. "Go on to your dormitory. I need a word with Professor Moody." He waited till Draco had exited, then shut the door with a savage wave of his wand; the heavy wooden door rattled on its hinges. "How dare you treat the Hogwarts students like your prisoners! You have been hired as a teacher, not an auror, Moody, and don't forget that!"

"Or what, Snape?" asked Moody. His slit of a mouth appeared to be leering with pleasure. "You'll tell Dumbledore? Oh, I'm scared." He thudded heavily forward, his wooden leg thumping on the cold floor. "I don't like you. I know what you were, even if I couldn't provide evidence to put you away. Still flabbergasts me that Dumbledore vouched for you. Why would he do that, do you suppose?"

Words caught in Snape's throat. He disliked very much talking about having been a Death Eater, and Moody's mention of it sent the familiar, odd chill up his spine. "He saw that I hadn't been deeply involved with the…Death Eaters. I rejected their ways and turned over a new leaf." The speech he'd learned all those years ago was coming back in shaky bits and pieces.

"Dumbledore is appallingly trusting, isn't he? Always wanting to believe the best in people, no matter the signs to the contrary. But basically we both know you're a cowardly piece of dung who holds no loyalty even when he pledges an oath," Moody said, smiling in a way that made him more frightening. "Does that mean whatever vow you've pledged to Dumbledore is null and void as well?"

"You know nothing about it," snarled Severus.

"I know you still meet with Lucius Malfoy on a regular basis, and that he wiggled out from under a sentence to Azkaban by claiming he'd been Imperiused. Everyone knows what a joke that is." Moody laughed, a hard, guttural vocalization that echoed in the room. "So tell me, does your allegiance lie with Dumbledore or with You-Know-Who? Or are you and Malfoy plotting something altogether different?"

"Get out." Snape's wand, which hadn't left his hand, aimed in Moody's general direction, more as a warning than a threat. "I have no intention of discussing my former life with you. In fact, I have no intention of discussing anything at all with you, but I will give you fair warning: if you continue to abuse my pupils, I _will_ make certain that you are dismissed from this school, one way or another."

"While we're threatening each other, I got something for you, Snape," replied Moody. "Watch yourself, 'cause I'll be watching you." His magical eye spun round and fixed on the Potions master. "Pet the ferret for me." Chuckling to himself, he stumped out the door and down the corridor.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ How many times have I restrained myself from simple pleasures like—oh, I don't know—transfiguring students? But Moody can do so with impunity, probably because Draco is only a Slytherin, and therefore unimportant. Not only did he turn Draco into a white ferret, he bounced him up and down on the stones repeatedly, probably as retribution against Lucius for having been a Death Eater. If my godson had been hurt, I would have attacked Moody myself, scourge-of-the-earth auror or not. _

_Then a few days later, to add insult to injury, Moody showed the children the Unforgivables! Hagrid is even becoming emboldened against Draco and my snakes, threatening to turn them into creatures, all the while forcing the students to care for a clutch of horrid animals that bite, sting, and burn them. Since Albus refuses to do anything about this terrorizing activity, perhaps Lucius will complain to the governors—or better yet, go straight to Minister Fudge. This madness must stop!_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus glanced over his snakes, formed into neat ranks according to class year in front of the castle, and sneered softly at the laxity of the other Heads of House. The rest really had no discipline at all, milling about like grazing sheep. Together they awaited the arrival of the school guests from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang, and although Slytherin House appeared casual on the outside, Snape knew them well enough to detect the excitement within.

Dusk had fallen on the cold, clear evening; they craned their necks in anticipation, wondering how the others would arrive. And then there it was, the enormous horse-drawn carriage that reminded Severus of the old muggle tales his mother used to read him, flying through the sky like a comet. The carriage touched down heavily just before the first line of students and skidded to a stop, the gargantuan horses pawing restlessly as though it hadn't been a strenuous enough journey. When Madame Maxime stepped out of the carriage, her students snapping to attention, Snape smiled inwardly. Ah, to have such respect from one's pupils. Dumbledore never cared to cultivate the proper respect, and look how the student body had turned out: snotty, ill-mannered, disobedient. Snape sighed softly.

Only minutes later, once Maxime had gone into the castle with her charges to warm up, there was a disturbance in the lake, and the mast of a giant ship rose above the surface of the water, followed by the ship itself. They walked single file behind their Headmaster across the lawns toward the light from the entrance hall of the castle. Severus waited till all the students had gone inside, then followed with the other teachers and took his place at the staff table. He noted that Moody was nowhere to be seen.

Across the empty chair between his own and Karkaroff's, he leaned over to whisper, "Igor, I must speak to you when you have a moment."

Karkaroff nodded jerkily and turned back to Dumbledore, as if to pretend he'd not noticed the Potions master at all. He didn't have to pretend for long, for Ludo Bagman presently came in to fill the seat. For the remainder of the meal, Snape merely watched the interactions of his students with the Durmstrang crowd, made polite conversation to Bagman and Minerva on his other side, and got up to leave as soon as it was over. He'd given Karkaroff the chance for a head's up on the Moody front, and the Durmstrang Headmaster had brushed it aside; his tough luck.

He observed the Golden Trio leaving just as Karkaroff came to escort his pupils back to the ship, and noted Karkaroff pause to stare at Harry's scar. _Yes, it's the freaking Boy Wonder. Let's all join hands and sing Kumbaya, shall we_, Severus sniped in his mind.

"Yes, that's Harry Potter," growled a voice from behind him, startling him and annoying him at once, and Moody stamped into view.

The expression of terror on Karkaroff's sheet-white face would have been comical if Severus hadn't fully appreciated what it meant. Moody had been the one to arrest Karkaroff, to send him to Azkaban. "You!" Karkaroff managed.

"Me," Moody replied. "And unless you've got anything to say to Potter, Karkaroff, you might want to move. You're blocking the doorway."

Karkaroff made haste, his students right behind him, with Moody staring after him with an intense look of dislike upon his face. He turned back to Snape, who'd not yet made it past, and growled quietly, "Friend of yours, Snape?"

Severus fixed him with a cool glare. "Why? Did he mention me during torture sessions?"

"Surprisingly, no," said Moody, the sarcasm seemingly lost on him. "But one never knows what the future holds."

Before he could stop himself, Snape retorted, "Perhaps you should ask Professor Trelawney. She seems certain of the future."

Moody's eyes—magical and otherwise—fixed on Severus in a most discomforting way. "Maybe you don't take her prophecies seriously enough." He spun round on his wooden leg, teetered slightly, and marched through the door with a _stomp-step-stomp-step_ rhythm.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Potter manages to outdo himself every year, doesn't he? This time the little monster has got himself chosen as a second champion for Hogwarts in the Triwizard Tournament, earning the ill will of the other schools and most of the student body. That part I don't mind, just the cheating part which is always excused because—well, because he's Harry Potter. Wasn't Albus able to make the charms strong enough to repel that nitwit? Really? Now let Dumbledore tell me I'm supposed to look after him! How in bloody hell am I supposed to do it? Follow him into his trials and perform them for him? It's likely the only way the brat will survive!_

_ And Moody….he's creeping me out, and that's not easy to do. He's always staring at me with that horrible eye, and saying ridiculous things like I should take Trelawney seriously. Did Dumbledore tell him about the prophecy I carried to the dark lord? I wouldn't doubt it. _

_ I hate this year. I hate Potter, which goes without saying, but I like to say it. I hate Albus on general principles. I hate Moody…everything about Moody. And Merlin's ghost, I hate my life._


	8. Book 4 Part 2

9

The Snape Chronicles—Book 4 Part 2

Snape stalked down the corridor, his robes billowing majestically behind him. Pity no one was around to see it except a small group comprised of a few stray students who hadn't made it to their classes yet. He glared particularly hard at them; most of them gulped nervously, and all of them hurried from the area. He smirked to himself. He still had it.

As he neared the stairs down to the dungeons, he slowed down. Today was Double Potions with the Slytherins and Gryffindorks, which meant double headaches for him. If he were a minute late, no one would dare comment on it—and would probably rejoice. Then he heard it, an unusual sound emanating from the dungeons: laughter. It was followed immediately by angry voices. At this point Severus wasn't concerned, it was likely only his snakes telling off the little monsters from Minerva's House, and since they undoubtedly deserved it there was no need to interfere.

When the space ahead at the corner flashed with coloured lights that he recognized as curses, he had to restrain himself from bolting down the corridor, reminding himself that these were only children, they hadn't the skill or knowledge to kill each other…yet. It still ticked him off, though. The brats knew better than to get into duels in the hallways.

A boy shouted, "Hermione!"

Severus slinked in behind the group of Slytherin girls cheering on Draco at the same moment Ron Weasley ran to Hermione. In a soft, deadly tone that oozed from his lips, he said, "And what is all this noise about?"

He noted with a twinge of satisfaction that his snakes snapped to attention before turning to him and all talking at once. The Gryffindors, as expected, merely began to loudly proclaim their innocence…must be something they taught them in first year in that House.

Snape waved them all into silence and pointed to Draco. "Explain."

With Harry interrupting, Draco quickly summarized the situation to his best light. He didn't like the look in Professor Snape's eye, that look which said he'd be getting a talking-to when this was over. Nonetheless, it was something done in private, not in front of the others, so he put on a brave face and melted back against his comrades, some of whom brazenly tapped their buttons to make them flash _POTTER STINKS_ behind the professor's back. The girls giggled silently as they pointed at Granger's ungodly growth of teeth, well past her collar now. He chuckled, knowing they'd not dare do it if Snape were watching—it made their House look bad, after all.

Snape sent Goyle to the infirmary for the boils presently covering his entire face in a hideous mass, courtesy of Potter's spell; when he examined Granger's grossly enlarged front teeth, he barely kept a straight face. Despite the fact that he realized he was being cruel, he couldn't stop himself from saying, "I see no difference."

Hermione ran off down the hall, crying all the way. Harry and Ron turned to Snape and began berating him loudly, fortunately both at once so that he was unable to truly distinguish what was said. He had little doubt it involved heavy doses of obscenity along with the blatant disrespect. Relishing the opportunity, he took 50 points from Gryffindor and assigned detentions to the duo, which made him happy for all of ten minutes, until Colin Creevey arrived to request Potter's presence for a photo shoot of the Triwizard Tournament champions.

After class, as the students were leaving, Severus said softly, "Draco, stay after class." In a louder tone he demanded, "Weasley, come back here! We've yet to arrange your detention."

Ron spun round and threw himself into his seat, pouting. Draco, who'd not yet gotten up from his chair, merely turned to stare back at Weasley and revel in his misfortune. Severus got up, walked to the far end of the classroom, and stopped, arms crossed over his thin chest, staring at Ron.

"So, Mr. Weasley, you think it appropriate to be insolent to your professors, do you?"

It was rhetorical, obviously, but Ron said sullenly, "Only you."

"Should I feel 'special' that you've chosen me?" asked Severus sarcastically.

Ron's head flushed to the colour of his hair. "What you said to Hermione was awful! She's really sensitive about her teeth, and you insulted her in front of everyone!"

"And _you_ are always so careful not to say anything which might be interpreted as insulting, is that right? Greasy git and Bat of the Dungeons come to mind. Oh, yes, I've heard you." Severus twisted his mouth into a savage sneer as he leaned in to enunciate, "Perhaps if you and your friends weren't continually in the midst of trouble, there'd be no reason to make comments of any nature. Every time problems arise, it seems you or Potter is at the center of it. Who fired the spell that hit Miss Granger?"

"Malfoy," answered Ron defensively.

Snape gestured for Draco to come over, which he did and stood beside the teacher. "Draco, why did you shoot a spell at Miss Granger?"

"I didn't, sir. I shot at Potter because he had his wand out, about to hex me, and I was defending myself. The spells collided and ricocheted into Goyle and the mud—Granger." Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. Professor Snape didn't like the term _mudblood_, and had more than once cautioned his charges not to use it in his presence. He'd even scolded Draco for it when he thoughtlessly said it after Moody had beaten him on the rocks.

"Do you disagree with this, Weasley?" asked Snape.

Ron shook his head. Even while angry with Harry, he hated siding with Malfoy against him, but it was the truth.

"Your detention will be tomorrow night at seven prompt, here in the lab. Tell Mr. Potter he is expected as well. I'll make sure to find something _productive_ for you to do." So saying, he waved his hand dismissively. "Get out. I have work to do."

Ron picked up his bag and stormed out; Malfoy began to follow, but Severus called him back with a simple, "I'm not finished with you, Draco."

Malfoy halted, then backtracked and sat down in the chair furthest back in the room, which wasn't far from Snape by any stretch of the imagination. He tried to avoid the steely gaze aimed his way. "Yes, sir?"

"Do you recall the last time I owled your father about your dueling? I believe it was first year, wasn't it?" said Severus, tapping his foot.

"Yes, sir," repeated Draco, swallowing hard. His father had caned him for that little episode, and warned him against any similar misconduct. "But Potter attacked me, I had to defend myself!"

"And why did he attack you?"

Draco hesitated. It would do no good to lie, Snape was a Legilimens. "Because of these badges." He tapped the badge, which flashed _POTTER_ _STINKS_ in green.

Snape rolled his eyes and sighed. "I've been seeing them all day long, as has he. Try again."

Another pause, long and uncomfortable. "I—I might—have said—something to make him mad," he stammered. When Severus didn't respond, when the cold stare shot into him like a knife, he added, "I called Granger a name, and Potter snapped like he was crazy. That's not my fault, is it?"

"You tell me," replied Snape. "We are both aware of the fragile nature of Potter's sanity and self-control. And don't think I can't guess the name that you called Miss Granger. Need I repeat that I don't care to hear it?"

"No, sir." Draco shifted uneasily in his seat. Lucius Malfoy wouldn't care one whit if his son called a mudblood a mudblood…he wasn't worried about that. What bothered him was any number of other things the teacher could say to upset the elder Malfoy if he had a mind to. "You're not going to owl my father, are you? It was self-defense, I swear it was."

Severus let his arms fall to his sides. He had no desire to bring Lucius into a child's quarrel when no harm had really been done. "I believe you, Draco. I only caution you again to watch your tongue. It could get you into trouble I won't be able to get you out of."

"I will, Uncle Severus," said Draco before correcting himself. He wasn't supposed to let people at school know they shared a special bond of godson to godfather. "I mean, sir. May I go?"

Severus nodded and Draco took off like a shot, so unlike his swagger in front of his classmates. Heaving another sigh, Severus sat down to begin correcting the stack of antidote essays on his desk. Picking up his quill, he dipped it into the red ink and splashed it across the first parchment.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_I am so sick of Potter. Weeks ago I caught him and Draco dueling in the hall before the prat was called out for a photo opportunity. He couldn't wait to get that spiky head in __The Daily Prophet__ yet again, could he? Does he never tire of attention? Silly question, what am I thinking? I must be overtired. Fortunately no one was seriously hurt in the fight, or I'd have had to tell Lucius about it; he made it plain to Draco that he is not to do anything to bring about Dumbledore's wrath upon him, and maiming his pet would surely fall into that category._

_ Then today was the first trial of the tournament, which consisted of getting past dragons and stealing the false egg planted in its nest. I brought up to Albus that it seemed unfair—and frankly against the rules—to have Minerva hanging about at the champions' tent right before the trial when none of the others had their support adult with them, but it doesn't matter because he's Harry bloody Potter and he can do whatever he wants. Minerva knew there would be dragons, we all knew, AND I'm fairly certain that cheating bint is the one who told the whelp to use accio to get his broomstick to outfly the dragon. I mean, there is no way Potter would think of it on his own._

_ Maybe I should be grateful that she did, since the urchin is still alive. Did I just say that? What I meant was I am charged with protecting him (thank you for the millionth time, Dumbledore), and if he died I'd somehow get the blame. If Albus hasn't got Potter to blackmail me with, he may decide to throw me into Azkaban until I suit his purpose again, like when the dark lord returns…and he is returning, the Mark grows stronger and blacker. I dread what is to come._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus strolled around the Great Hall exactly once, glaring at the pupils in their dress robes, giggling and joking as if it were…fun. What was fun about dressing up and standing about or dancing? Then again, some of them were dancing far too close for comfort. Before he had the chance to break them up, Minerva stomped over, her voice ringing over the earsplitting music, to demand one couple leave a decent space between them. For once Severus agreed with her; they didn't need some of the boys getting ideas and the girls getting preggers, now did they? Maybe it was the chatter they favoured; they were a bunch of nattering nitwits, after all. Shaking his head, he strode out into the hallway, but it was empty.

Since he had to be here, he may as well make himself useful, so he quietly made his way to the exit and slipped outside, where he ran smack into Igor Karkaroff. The latter turned on him with such an expression of fear it made Snape look behind him as well.

"Severus, I was hoping to get a chance to talk to you," gushed the man.

"So you naturally assumed I'd come outside on a frigid night looking for you?" asked Severus snidely.

"I was about to go in…" Karkaroff glanced about him, then leaned in. "Why didn't you warn me about Moody being here?"

"I tried. You ignored me," said Snape. He continued on his walk, blasting apart a rose bush, and frowning when no one came scurrying out from behind it. "He hasn't done anything to you, has he? So far he's been all bark and no bite."

"He's watching me all the time—and you. Don't think I haven't noticed." Karkaroff fell into stride beside him. "If he detects the Mark getting stronger, what will he do? I think we should run while we have the opportunity."

"I don't go around flashing my arm at him," said Snape, blasting another bush by the path. "I don't see what there is to fuss about, Igor."

"Severus, you cannot pretend this isn't happening!" said Karkaroff in an anxious, hushed tone. "It's been getting clearer and clearer for months. I am becoming seriously concerned, I can't deny it—"

"Then flee. Flee—I will make your excuses. I, however, am remaining at Hogwarts."

The pair rounded the corner. Snape blasted some more rose bushes and students came rushing out, to be docked ten points each before running into the school. Upon catching sight of Harry and Ron, his face twisted into a most unpleasant expression. "And what are you two doing?"

"We're walking," said Ron shortly. "Not against the law, is it?"

Snape had the urge to dock points from his House for cheek alone. Apparently his detention earlier hadn't taught him any respect. "Keep walking, then!" He brushed past, billowing his robes for all they were worth.

Karkaroff hurried after him, and glanced back before going on with the conversation. Snape had stopped shooting spells into bushes, had evidently led them to a more secluded area where they'd be unlikely to be overheard. "Where could I go that the dark lord can't find me? The Dark Mark is almost black again; doesn't that concern you?"

Snape stopped short and turned partially round to him. "There is nothing I can do about it, is there? If the dark lord is growing stronger, if he returns, we have no choice but to fly to his side. You can always beg his mercy for disavowing him. You certainly wouldn't be the only one."

No," said Karkaroff, his voice rising to a shrill panicked tone, his eyes wide, "Even if he'd forgive me—and we know how unlikely that is—there are many Death Eaters I turned in to the authorities. They will never forgive, nor will their friends outside of Azkaban. I'm as good as dead if the dark lord calls us to his side."

"What do you want me to say?" said Snape wearily. "I am in no position to defend you, nor am I a coward that runs when times get hard. Do what you must, Igor, but leave me out of it."

He turned to go back down the path toward the school, leaving Karkaroff behind. There honestly was nothing he could do, and he'd simply not be drawn into a mess like this when his own life was far from wrinkle-free. He needed one more worry like he needed a hole in the head…although come to think of it, a hole in the head would end his misery. No more looking after that brat Potter, no more obeisance to Dumbledore, no more wondering when and if Voldemort was coming back. He shook his head softly, his frozen hair clumping at his cheeks. That was the coward's way out; he had agreed to watch over Potter, and he'd do it because he'd promised to do it. That was that.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_I swear by all that is holy, if I catch whoever was in my office, mucking about in my things, I will hex him so badly he'll beg for death. Potter was sneaking about the halls and dropped his golden egg down the stairs like the nitwit he is. I'm certain it was he or Moody who broke into my office and rifled through my belongings—Moody not for the first time. The bastard even made sport of the fact when he burst in on myself and Filch in the corridor, says Dumbledore told him to search my office—and probably my quarters as well. I don't know what he was looking for, probably evidence of my loyalty to the dark lord. He won't find it here, I daresay. But something happened…when he spoke of spots not coming off, the Mark on my arm burned. Coincidence, surely, but…what if Voldemort can hear me, what if he's come into the school again? A very unnerving thought._

_ To complete my ill-humour, Potter is now tied with Cedric Diggory for first place in the tournament, since he evidently played the hero once more in the lake, and was awarded points for it despite the fact that he arrived later than all the other champions. Potter receiving accolades, who'd have thought? That brat leads a charmed life, from escaping death as a baby to all his escapades since. Why do I even need to be here? Obviously the brat-who-refuses-to-die will survive no matter how often we—they—try to kill him. I hate him. I hate my life._


	9. Book 4 Part 3

9

The Snape Chronicles—Book 4 Part 3

_ Despite the fact that we found Potter's golden champion egg in the hallway, along with that blasted parchment map—at the precise hour my office was being rifled through—Potter denies being in my office or stealing my supplies. Big shock there. What should we expect from the wretched 'saviour'? Truth? I'd laugh, but the students might think I'm having a seizure._

_ I threatened the little monster with Veritaserum, which shut his insolent mouth. That felt pretty good. Next time I might actually do it without warning, which would feel immeasurably better. I might have done except Karkaroff came barging in to harass me. The imbecile stood right behind my desk all period as if I had plans to flee at any second. And then the fool bared his Dark Mark right there in the dungeon for all and sundry to see—well Potter, anyway, who was sneaking underneath the table, listening. How I loathe that urchin. Fortunately, the child dunce appears immune to deductive reasoning, so I have little fear he'll figure anything out._

_ Barty Crouch is missing. And what is the common denominator? Why, Potter. He and Krum (unlikely duo, no?) went for a stroll near the Forbidden Forest (really?) and happened to encounter a raving Crouch. Potter came to fetch Dumbledore, but when he arrived, Crouch was gone, Krum stunned. I'd suspect Karkaroff, except his indignation and fury over the attack on Krum was too real for him to have faked it. This, in conjunction with the ever-deepening hue of the Dark Mark, doesn't bode well._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

It was during the last trial that Snape felt it: the unmistakable wrenching pain in his left forearm that signaled a call from the master. It had been so long since last he'd felt the call, yet its power and urgency hadn't diminished a bit, gave him the same lurch in the pit of his stomach as always it had. And now, of all times to come, in the Quidditch pitch stands, awaiting the arrival of the champion, with the whole school—and two additional sets of students as well—gathered to witness his unmasking.

He grasped the Mark with his right hand, glancing frantically about at the crowd, all of them bent vaguely forward, staring at the maze, waiting. They weren't noticing him, that was good. For several minutes he wrestled within himself. If he didn't respond to the call, he was as good as dead. If he went, he might be as good as dead anyway—one never knew what to anticipate from the dark lord. Maybe he should ride it out…no, he should leave the area and head for the edge of the property where he could disapparate. But wouldn't Dumbledore want to know what was going on? Severus bandied the alternatives about in his mind at length until there was no option, he must _do_ something. And that something wasn't going to be pleasant. His decision made, he rose quickly and made his way to the end of the row, shoving aside a gaggle of sixth year Ravenclaws; he headed straight for Dumbledore, who sat two rows in front of him, at the edge.

"Headmaster, I must speak with you," he said, a slight tremor shaking his voice.

Dumbledore turned his head, instantly noting the other wizard's distress. It wasn't normal to see fear in Snape's eyes. He rose in one fluid motion and swept off the stands. "Come."

They walked some distance toward the school, until they were sure not to be overheard, then Albus said, "What is it, Severus?"

Turning his back to the crowd, Snape drew back his sleeve far enough to let Albus see the Dark Mark pulsing on his arm. His voice came out in a choked whisper. "He's back. He's calling me."

Long pause, punctuated by hoots and cries from the stands of people chattering amongst themselves. Albus pursed his lips. He'd been predicting this, though to see it come to fruition, to see it staring him in the face, made it seem all the more eerie. "Do you wish to respond to him?"

"What kind of a question is that?" demanded Severus angrily. "I gave you my allegiance."

"As you once gave it to Lord Voldemort," Dumbledore reminded him softly, then seeing the expression on Snape's face he went on, "I mean, he assumes you will return. If you don't, will he not come looking for you, or send out Death Eaters after you?"

"I had hoped you would defend me," Snape said woodenly. Shouldn't he have known it didn't work that way? Once a Death Eater, always a Death Eater, right? As far as the self-proclaimed 'good guys' were concerned, at any rate.

"It is your choice, Severus. If you return to him, you will have to continue to play the part of a faithful Death Eater until we can bring him down for good."

"And if I choose not to go to him?"

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles. "I will do my utmost to keep you safe here. They will not attack Hogwarts."

"But they will still come after Potter at every opportunity," said Snape in a tone so low it was barely audible. "And I have promised to protect him." He took in a deep breath, steeling himself. "I must go in order to find out their plans."

Screams from the stadium caused the pair to whip around. Something had happened. At a run they set out for the pitch, and before they'd even got back to their seating area they saw a congregation of people in the middle of the arena, with Harry Potter in the center, bending over, lying on the ground. Albus hurried forward, motioning for Severus to stay with him. From the stands, Minerva came barreling down to be with her charge. On the ground lay Cedric Diggory, white and still, his eyes open, his face at peace…and dead. People were shouting, others crying, his parents trying to break in on the group. In the midst of all the disturbance, no one noticed Moody leading Harry away. It wasn't until the pair had nearly reached the school that Dumbledore looked round and saw them; he grabbed Snape and Minerva and shouted for them to follow him.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus entered into Moody's office, nodding with a jerk of his head to Minerva, who stood guard with her wand in the junior Barty Crouch's face. He stepped in front of Crouch, who sneered up at him despite the bands holding his wrists to the chair.

"Snape, you two-faced bastard. I can't wait to see the punishment the dark lord has prepared for you when he finally gets ahold of you."

"Sadly, you will be denied that pleasure," drawled Severus. "I have summoned Minister Fudge, who is coming to question you himself. No doubt you will be summarily returned to Azkaban, where you can live out the rest of your miserable life in your little fantasy world where Voldemort is a hero."

Crouch hissed at the mention of the master's name. "How dare you speak his name, you halfbreed filth! He _is_ a hero! He was more a father to me than my own ever was! He earned my loyalty and devotion by teaching me, molding me, encouraging me to reach for the stars—"

"For yourself or for him?" interrupted Severus calmly.

"What I do for the master benefits me. He deserves my best," said Crouch, eyes glaring daggers.

"He's got you thoroughly brainwashed," said Minerva from the side.

"Shut it, blood traitor," Crouch replied in a near growl. "You're almost as bad as this faithless halfbreed Death Eater."

"You do know that Voldemort is a halfblood, don't you?" asked Severus, smirking wickedly. "He let us believe otherwise, but Dumbledore happened to know his father was a muggle. Isn't that fascinating?"

"Liar!" Barty struggled vainly against his ropes until, exhausted, he fell back into the chair. Breathing heavily, he murmured, "He'll rescue me, and when he does, he'll let me kill you personally. Oh, how I despise all of you who talked your way out of prison!"

The door opened with a bang, and a rush of frigid cold entered with the Minister of Magic; behind him, a dementor hovered in the air. Both Snape and McGonagall shrank back in shock and dismay. Crouch stared at the dementor with abject terror and loathing, unable to speak.

"Mr. Fudge, what do you think you're doing?" cried Minerva, her wand now vacillating between Crouch and the dementor. "Dumbledore doesn't allow them in the castle, you must remove it at once!"

"I brought it for my safety, Madam," answered Fudge. "Under the circumstances, I think it prudent."

"It is neither necessary nor appropriate to bring a dementor into a school!" shrieked Minerva. "You can question Crouch without it. He can't harm you."

Fudge turned up his nose and stepped further into the room, with the horrid creature at his heels. The second it entered the room, it homed in on Crouch. Before another word was spoken, it swooped rapidly toward the now-screaming captive, positioned itself in front of him, and pulled back its hood; its jaw clamped tightly around Barty's mouth and it began a sickening sucking noise.

"Stop it!" shrilled Minerva.

Snape drew his wand out, set to cast a patronus, when the noise subsided as quickly as it had begun. The dementor floated backward, looking oddly like a drunken ghoul. In the chair, Barty's body sat slumped over, barely breathing…his soul had been sucked from his mouth in the space of mere seconds.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Two hours had elapsed since the Dark Mark had ignited his flesh in an orgy of pain, and Severus was afraid. Not that anyone could tell from his outward expression, but he felt it all the same. The dark lord was not merciful or forgiving, despite what he told himself and his followers, and Snape's failure to respond promptly to the call would—on the best of days—earn him severe punishment in the form of the Cruciatus. This was not a good day, not when Harry Potter had slipped through Voldemort's fingers yet again. The dark lord just might kill him, yet what choice did he have? He must do this. He'd sworn allegiance to Dumbledore and to the defeat of Lord Voldemort once and for all.

Severus apparated from the Hogwarts boundary into the unkempt front lawn of a large, old manor house on a hill. Even in the dark of night, illuminated only by moon and stars, he saw signs of neglect, age related deterioration unchecked by any occupants. He turned a slow circle, taking in the surroundings. There was a village below, in the valley, and across the way stood a church and cemetery. A chill ran through him; this was where Potter had been brought, where the dark lord had been reborn.

His eyes flicked back to the house. It was too quiet; the other Death Eaters must have been sent away. He was alone to face the master, to attempt to convince him of his continued loyalty. Standing out here wasn't going to accomplish that. Drawing in a deep, steadying breath, he mounted the stairs. He knocked hard on the door, wondering if he should have simply gone inside. The dark lord wasn't likely to act as a doorman.

Suddenly the door swung open, but it was not Voldemort, though Snape recoiled slightly nonetheless. "Well, look who's here," rasped Wormtail. "You're—"

Severus shoved him aside with one violent thrust of his arm and marched in, ignoring the rat-man's indignant squeal. "Where is Lord Voldemort?"

His body pivoted to the left of its own accord, to face the ghoulish, cold white face of Lord Voldemort. The red eyes pierced him like arrows as the wand held Snape firmly in place. "Severusss Snape," hissed the dark wizard. "You dare crawl to me now, two hours after I summoned you?"

The Cruciatus that knocked Snape to his knees surprised him, and even as he thrashed screaming on the floor, a piece of his mind mused at his surprise. Merlin's beard, this was Voldemort, not Mary freaking Poppins! What the hell had he expected to happen?

He was nearly unconscious from the pain when the master finally lifted the wand. Voldemort slid across the floor as if his feet barely touched the tile, and he towered over the prone man. "Tell me why I shouldn't kill you now."

"M-Master," Severus croaked, not attempting to move, as if the agony would have permitted it. Every cell of his body ached and burned, his throat felt swollen and raw. "I—couldn't come. Had to—make Dumbledore think—it was—his idea." He tried to swallow over the lump perched in his throat. "I've information—for you."

He braced himself, but another _crucio_ didn't come. Instead Voldemort circled him curiously, inspecting him like a bug he'd found lying on his floor. "What sort of information is worth defying my summons?"

"Barty Crouch—is dead," Severus panted, using the first thing to come to his mind. "Or worse. A dementor sucked his soul. And The Order—The Order of the Phoenix…it's been reestablished. Dumbledore knows you're alive."

Voldemort stopped briefly, then continued in more of an agitated pace. "You've been working for Dumbledore all these years, have you? Surely you've got years' worth of intelligence on the old coot." He made a magnanimous gesture for Severus to get up, and the Death Eater struggled to his knees.

"I know a lot, my lord," Severus agreed, trying to stand on spaghetti-soft legs. "I never stopped spying for you, all the while hoping for your return, even when it seemed impossible."

Voldemort barely restrained a snort. It seemed patently unlikely that Snape had hoped or tried any harder for his return than any of the other Death Eaters. "Why did you not come looking for me?" His eyes reached out in what Snape recognized as a prelude to the Legilimency touch.

Severus ducked his head, feigning shame. Though he could shield himself with Occlumency, he'd prefer not to have to. "I feared you lost, dead, my lord. I'm sorry. I was weak and stupid. But I did hold out hope—because of your horcruxes." He paused, then added, "I didn't know how they worked, I thought you alone could repair your body using them. I still do not understand how you came to be here now."

"Perhaps I will tell you later," said Voldemort curtly. "For now, come in here, tell me everything you've learned in these last years." He turned and walked back into a sitting room that looked every bit as decrepit as the rest of the house, and settled into a raggedy chair in front of the fire. Severus sat uneasily in the one opposite him. "Wormtail, bring us something hot to drink!"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ The dark lord has returned. Although I knew it was happening, felt it growing day by day, I foolishly hoped for reprieve. Voldemort used the Cruciatus on me for arriving two hours late, though to be fair that was practically love taps compared to other tortures he's made me endure over the years. He must be mellowing. That was meant as a joke, but somehow I can't find it funny. My fingers are still a little numb from pain._

_ Cedric Diggory, one of the truly bright pupils I ever taught, is dead, murdered by the dark lord. Barty Crouch, Sr. is also dead, killed by his son—escaped from Azkaban years ago, apparently with the help of his parents. Now Barty, Jr. is but a shell, thanks to the dementor's kiss. It never ends, the misery, the pain._

_Fudge is such a fool, refusing to believe Lord Voldemort is back, afraid it will damage his political aspirations. What does he think, that Voldemort will hide in a hole so Fudge can remain Minister of Magic forever? Yes, the dark lord is so accommodating that way._

_Dumbledore is reestablishing The Order of the Phoenix, and enlisting me along with the members from last time around. And who should join our ranks but that despicable Sirius Black! Albus even forced us to shake hands…or should I say paws? Black is an animagus! I used to laugh about his similarity to a dog in so many ways, and now I see how right I've been all along. The idea of working alongside him makes my flesh crawl…but then, maybe that's the fleas he's given me. I made a note in my To-Do List to bring along a chew toy for the mutt next time I see him._

_ This is becoming too much. Voldemort is back, and if I care to survive I must serve him to the best of my ability while walking the tightrope between him and Dumbledore. I can only pray I am not forced to do anything worse than last time round. On the bright side, I can be a perky git and ask who else gets the dubious honour and joy of serving not one, but TWO egotistical megalomaniacs at the same time? I hate my life._


	10. Book 5 Part 1

8

The Snape Chronicles—Book 5 Part 1

_Not that I object to Potter getting himself into well-deserved trouble, but since when do we convene the Wizengamot for underage magic, or magic in front of a muggle? His cousin, no less. According to the squib Arabella Figg, there were two dementors in the alley, and Potter was repelling them with a patronus charm. Now, while I enjoy happy, glowy fantasies of Potter's demise as much as the next person, I don't believe even he deserves to have his soul sucked by dementors. After witnessing it performed on Barty Crouch, Jr., I wouldn't even wish it on that bane of my existence, Sirius Black. I must admit I'm glad the brat was cleared of the charges; creeping round Privet Drive to guard him was hellishly worse than watching the twerp at Hogwarts. _

_ The dark lord, when I informed him about it, declared he had not sent the dementors. In fact, he seemed surprised about the whole thing, and maybe a tiny bit upset. He wants the joy of murdering Potter himself. Can't fault him for that._

_ Must go, we have another meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. Yay._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus apparated onto the stoop next to the door of Grimmauld Place and knocked loudly with the silver knocker in the shape of a twisted serpent. Although the old house elf ought to answer the door, he didn't hold his breath; the damned thing hated him almost as much as it hated Sirius, which took a powerful lot of doing. One might think Kreacher could sympathize with Snape, having a common enemy and all.

Sirius flung open the door, waiting a moment before acknowledging his guest. Snape took the opportunity to purr, "Cat got your tongue, dogboy?"

"Shut it, Snape." He moved aside to let the other man in, and closed the door just as the portrait of his mother began to rail about blood traitors and halfbreeds and mudbloods. He led the way down the stairs to the kitchen with Severus following. "And don't get so close to me!"

"Why? Are you afraid James may get jealous?" Snape retorted. Stomping down the steps, he drawled, "Speaking of _close_, I wouldn't suggest you treat Harry like you did his father. It's hardly appropriate."

Sirius wheeled round, nearly tripping on the last step, and fell with a clunk onto the floor. "What the f—k is that supposed to mean?"

Severus paid him no heed, pushing past into the kitchen, where a large fire at the end of the huge room gave scant illumination on the stone walls, making the room even more grim than Spinner's End, a massive accomplishment. Severus found it severely depressing to be in this dark, damp, moldy house, let alone this cave-like room, for any amount of time, and never stayed for meals afterward like the rest, though he doubted he was truly welcome anyway. He moved to the long, wooden table, around which sat several witches and wizards, and set down the scrolls clutched in his hand. He hadn't noticed how sweaty his palm felt till now.

"Hello, Arthur, Molly," he said tightly. He nodded to the rest, who either grunted or nodded in return. He expected no warm reception, nor received one.

"Severus," the Weasleys said in unison. Molly added, "Would you like something to drink?"

"No, thank you. I'd like to get started as soon as possible. I haven't much time." _And that lunatic Black may slip something into it. _ His eye roamed to Moody, where the definition of lunatic took on whole new shades of meaning. Moody glared back at him, reminiscent of the way Barty/Moody had looked at him last term. A shiver ran up his spine.

Arthur stood up, at the same time gesturing toward Severus, who'd positioned himself in front of a chair, but hadn't seated himself. "Severus has told Dumbledore that he's got important information for us. Severus, whenever you're ready."

Snape gave another curt nod and unrolled the first parchment he'd brought. "I presume most of you know that Sybill Trelawney made a prophecy many years ago, before Harry Potter was born. It's the reason his parents were killed." Moody, Sirius, Lupin, and the three Weasleys muttered an assent; Mundungus Fletcher and Tonks stared blankly.

"The prophecy stated that: _The one with the power to vanquish the dark lord approaches…born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies._ This is as far as Voldemort knows, but the prophecy continues. The dark lord intends to acquire the orb in order to find out what else is included. We must prevent it."

"What does the rest of the prophecy say?" asked Tonks, as several other heads strained forward, nodding.

Snape's lip curled slightly. "I don't know. Dumbledore doesn't see fit to tell me."

"And that's surprising that he doesn't want a Death Eater to carry it back to Voldemort tied up in a red bow?" said Sirius in a mocking tone.

Molly shushed him, but not before the two men exchanged hostile scowls. "I reckon he doesn't want anyone to know, in case we were kidnapped or something," she said.

"That's true," Arthur interjected. "They can't force us to tell what we don't know."

Severus indicated the parchment he'd rolled out. "This is a layout of the Department of Mysteries, where thousands of prophecies are stored. Our task is to determine the best course of action in preventing anyone from entering to retrieve it."

"You mean we're to guard the place?" asked Lupin.

"Exactly how are we to do that?" asked Bill Weasley. "Unless we work for the Ministry, we'll stick out like a sore thumb being there."

"Where there's a will, there's a way," growled Moody from his chair in the deepest, darkest corner.

Severus seated himself while the other members talked among themselves over who they might appoint to guard the place, and other methods of insuring Death Eaters didn't gain access. He personally couldn't care less who did it, as he was in no position to do so. Being a teacher during the school year had _that_ perk, at least.

When the meeting wound down, Snape didn't bother to say his farewells, and no one seemed to mind or notice. As he reached the stairs, he reached into the inner pocket of his robe and pulled out something which he tossed to Sirius; Black caught it with a bemused look.

"Good boy," said Severus, sneering.

Sirius looked at the object, which appeared to be a rubber bone that squeaked when he squeezed it. "What's this?"

"I thought I'd get you something to pass the time. It must get tiresome here, cleaning like a house elf while others risk their lives for the Order." Then he whirled and marched up the stairs with Sirius swearing at the top of his lungs, and Bill and Arthur holding him back from attacking the other wizard. When he'd let himself out, he paused on the doorstep to take out his To-Do List, and smirked while he very deliberately struck through the line '_Bring Black a chew toy._'

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_The first Potions lesson of the year with Potter went dismally, as anyone could have predicted, even Trelawney. It was the Draught of Peace, a simple enough formula that you'd swear had been written in ancient Sumerian text the way these idiot children manage to blunder through. Potter, Goyle, and Longbottom scraped for the bottom of the barrel and came out smelling like swill. I cannot stress enough how relieved I will be next year not to have to deal with most of them ever again. Sadly, I will have a new crop of 'geniuses' to torment me._

_ Sturgis Podmore, who'd been set to guard the Department of Mysteries against Death Eater intrusion, has been arrested and sent to Azkaban for six months for trying to break in. I suspect he's been Imperiused…I hope Lucius isn't behind it. He's very good at that particular curse, and not shy of using it to suit his purposes. I'm afraid to ask because he might tell me, and I prefer not to know information that might send my best friend to prison._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Snape tried to ignore her; he wasn't good at ignoring people, especially when they were grating and maddening, but he'd promised Dumbledore that he wouldn't _avada kedavra_ her—as if he needed to make that promise. When had he actually ever used that curse? That's right, never. Although there was always a first time for everything.

He steadfastly kept his eyes on the vials of Strengthening Solution on his desk as he picked up each one in turn for their cursory inspection before the later testing to determine the grade. So far they looked pretty pitiful, though his blank countenance didn't let it show. It wouldn't do to let the toad-woman know how badly his pupils had performed, now would it?

At last he'd had enough of her hovering and snapped, "While I may find my classroom décor fascinating, I daresay you do not, so is there some reason you are still here, Miss Umbridge? You said you came to observe the lesson. The students have gone, the lesson is over. You do understand what 'over' means, do you not?"

Umbridge gasped as if struck, then replied in her sickening sweet, girlish tone that made Snape want to ram a fist in her mouth, "Why, Professor Snape, I'm not accustomed to such antagonism."

"Somehow I doubt that," he said dryly.

"I am simply doing my job, trying to protect our youth from the dangers all around."

He lifted his head and turned icy eyes on her, piercing her in place. "So a school devoid of any challenges or practice for the real world is somehow beneficial to our children? Interesting." He picked up a quill and began scribbling on a sheet of parchment.

"What are you writing?" She edged nearer for a look, and he deftly covered it with the length of his arm. His sleeve smeared the ink, but he merely smiled. "Professor Snape, I demand to see it."

"I think not."

She stamped her foot, which seemed too tiny for her body. "So, you not only cause your students to create potions not approved by the Ministry, you're being actively uncooperative." She lifted her clipboard and began writing furiously. "Perhaps that's why you didn't get the Defense Against the Dark Arts position you covet—you have a bad attitude."

"I fail to see the relevance of that." He wrote down a few more words before hiding them once more. "The attitude didn't keep me from this post, did it?"

"I understand your mother was an excellent Potions student herself," said Umbridge, her feigned sweetness returning although her eyes glared daggers at him.

Severus looked at her once more, unruffled on the outside, his ire rising inside. "Where might you have gotten any information whatsoever about my mother?"

"Here and there," said Umbridge chirpily. Although he refused to show it, she was certain she'd struck a nerve. Everyone was protective about their mothers. "I think I should tell you—for your own good, of course—that some pupils, who shall remain nameless, have suggested that you can be unfair in class…a few have gone so far as to call you petty and nasty."

"And would these 'nameless' individuals happen to be in Gryffindor House?" he asked spitefully. "In case you're wondering, Potter and his cohorts have always had it in for me, and sacking me would make them extremely happy. I've seen you with Potter, and I get the distinct impression you don't want to make him happy."

She faltered, not expecting him to guess so quickly what she was doing. "We're working towards the same goal, the best instruction for the children."

"Naturally."

"So for our mutual benefit, I must ask…is there anything in your background you'd like to tell me before I dig it up elsewhere? Anything that might later be used against you by people _not_ on our side?"

He marginally suppressed a snort of derision. "If I had something to hide, it is unlikely I would confide it to you."

Time to change tactics. He refused to be cowed. Hell, he seemed to _want_ to be sacked! "Professor, the Ministry only wishes to know if there is something…untoward…going on among the students…or perhaps among the teachers. Now is the time to rectify it before it gets out of hand. The Ministry is certainly willing to consider remuneration for any information you might stumble across."

Severus allowed a tiny smile, so used to deception that it came on without bidding. "Miss Umbridge, I haven't a clue what you're on about. However, if anything…untoward…comes to my attention, rest assured you will be the first person I come to."

"So I can count on you, Professor?" she said in that delicate, cheery tone.

"With an offer like that, how could I not accept?" He stood and made a tiny bow. "If you don't mind, I have work to do."

"Of course." She left the room, her step springy, her clipboard swinging from her hand.

When she'd gone, Severus sat down and let a string of profanity course from his lips. That bumbling, obnoxious ogress had the audacity to think he'd turn in his fellow teachers for money? If he were going to snitch on them for behaviour unauthorized by some nutter in the Ministry, which he most certainly was not, he'd do it as a public service! Every year the DADA teacher got worse…what was next year going to bring, a troll? No, what was he thinking? A troll would be an improvement, both mentally and aesthetically.

He removed his arm from the paper he'd been scrawling on and balled it up to throw in the rubbish. He'd only been scribbling to make her eager to know what it was, and it had worked. Well, now he had work to get to; potions didn't grade themselves.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Our new DADA instructor, Dolores Umbridge, is a Ministry plant. I've known that all along, but now the toad-faced bitch has got herself appointed High Inquisitor! Excuse me, but when did this become Inquisition Part II? Lucius seems happy about the turn of events, only because he hates Dumbledore and believes this is what the dark lord wants, and he dare not speak otherwise. Besides, he doesn't have to live with her, or be critiqued in a most humiliating and infuriating manner by that pompous bitch. One more "hem hem" from her and I'll cram that black bow on top of her head right down her throat._

_I freely admit I am one of the most paranoid people I've ever known, and I work for Voldemort, who is worse than I am. Despite that I'm left wondering how paranoid must a person be to think Dumbledore not only craves the office of Minister of Magic—which he could have in a heartbeat if he wanted it—but to think he's creating an army of students to fight for him? Seriously? I say good luck on that front, if he's depending on these students to win a coup and set him in office! I choked on my own saliva there, laughing so hard._

_ On the bright side—and never let it be said I don't search diligently in my pathetic life for a bright side—Potter has been banned from playing Quidditch forever. Maybe the brat will spend some time applying himself to his studies now. Ha. Ha._

_ I nearly got into a duel with Black. He can't bear it that I am more useful than he, and I can't resist rubbing his snout in it. I rather wish we could have had it out, it would feel good to cut loose and curse his arse. _

_ Dumbledore suspects some sort of mind link going on between the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Make-My-Life-Hell and Voldemort. That presupposes a mind, but whatever. He's kindly informed me that I will be teaching the brat Occlumency. Potter seemed as overjoyed as myself when I notified him that we will be spending loads of time together in a very intimate, vulnerable setting. I can hardly wait. I hate my life. _


	11. Book 5 Part 2

11

The Snape Chronicles—Book 5 Part 2

_While difficult to believe it possible, this year manages to suck even worse than last. Although Arthur Weasley is recovering nicely from his Nagini-inflicted wounds, I am still forced to interact on a regular basis with the wretched Black dog and the rest of the Order, who mistrust and despise me. And, to make my life so much sweeter, Albus has decreed that I teach the brat Occlumency. I have been unable in four and a half years to teach that dunderhead the basics of Potions-making, and I am now expected to train him in one of the most difficult mind exercises that exist. I'm not a freaking miracle worker, Dumbledore! Why didn't he just demand that I walk on water or cause the sun to stand still?_

_ For starters, the whelp can't seem to understand that it's important for him to close his mind to Lord Voldemort. It seems obvious to anyone with a brain that you don't want the darkest wizard in history sifting through it, but I dare not give Potter too much credit. I'm not entirely sure he's got more than rudimentary parts beyond the brain stem. If I weren't a lowly spy-slave, I'd tell Potter straight up what is going on, but nooooo. We have to play the game. Always the game with you, isn't it, Albus? Potter will not buckle down and try because he doesn't understand what is at stake…and I can't tell him. I lead him through the exercises, and he resists me; he can't grasp that it is the dark lord he needs to resist._

_ People think me detached and cold…perhaps I am. It keeps me alive. Those who wallow in sentiment and 'feelings' are easy prey for Voldemort, and I can't afford that. Potter has no sense of emotional control or boundaries. Well, no sense at all, but don't get me started on that. The hopeless brat will get us both killed, allowing the dark lord to see me teaching him. I hate Potter. And Dumbledore. And what the deuce, Umbridge as well—is there anyone at this bloody school I can tolerate?_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus apparated immediately when the Dark Mark burned in his skin. He didn't know what he was getting into, but he knew what he was avoiding—a very painful session of lessons involving promptness and obedience. He could do without that again, thank you very much. He arrived once more at the old Riddle house, the last place he'd seen the master, and was rather astonished to see numerous other persons apparating there as well. At least it wasn't for a one-on-one torture session…that was a relief.

With the masks on, he could only guess at the identities of most of them, though the bulky build of two told him Crabbe and Goyle Sr. had arrived. Long blond hair poking from beneath a hood was another good indication, and he sidled up to the man heading for the house.

"Any idea what this is about, Lucius?"

Malfoy halted in his tracks, then drawled, "How did you know it was me, Severus?"

In answer Snape gave a light yank to the locks extending beyond the reach of the hood. "You might want to watch that next time. So, any clue?"

"No more than you." Lucius gave him a push to hurry him along. "The dark lord has been busy plotting of late, and if his plan has succeeded…" The two looked at each other, their masked faces not revealing the true feelings beneath.

They entered together and made their way to the sound of commotion in the back of the house. When they arrived to the kitchen, they both stopped in their tracks, mouths dropping open and eyes bulging, thankfully hidden by their masks. In front of them, some sitting, wolfing down morsels from the mountains of food loaded on the table, some pacing about, some laughing and talking, were ten extremely dirty, unkempt, long-haired and bearded Death Eaters they had not seen in a very long time. In the very middle of the fray, seated at the head of the table and lapping up the profuse thanks coming his way, was Lord Voldemort.

The smell in the place elicited a soft gagging noise from Lucius, which Severus quelled with a hissed, "Knock it off! They've been in prison for fourteen years."

"As if I couldn't tell," Lucius shot back. He hurried forward to Voldemort, saying, "My lord, your ingenious plan worked! How fortunate we are to have our former members in our ranks once more!" He stooped to kiss the hem of the dark lord's garment, removing his mask to do so.

"Yes, Lucius, did you ever doubt me?" rejoined the dark lord gaily, and those about him laughed heartily, more for their newfound freedom than anything else.

Lucius moved aside to let others offer their obeisance, and as he did so was approached by a dark haired woman whose eyes shone with a strange, other-worldly quality. She walked up to him, swaying her emaciated hips, her hair a tangled mess, her face gaunt and sallow. Even her voice sounded gravelly, as if from years of disuse. "So, blondie, did you miss me?"

Lucius faced her, grimacing. Did she have her wand? Had the dark lord been able to retrieve them? In the event that he had, it was better safe than sorry. "Hello, Bella. It's good to see you…still…alive." It was the best he could do while being honest. "Narcissa will be pleased."

"Yeah, I'm sure she will be," retorted Bella. Then she started swaying to music no one else could hear, flapping her arms gently to the tune and waltzing about the room. "I've missed dancing, my lord. Won't you dance with me?"

"Later, Bellatrix, when we're alone." Voldemort purposely looked at Rodolphus, as if to challenge him, but the Death Eater seemed oblivious to it and only took another deep draught from his cup of ale.

Severus got up from kissing the dark lord's garment and scuttled off to the far corner of the room where he could observe without too much actual interaction. As fate would have it, he bumped into one of the larger men, whose hair reached long past his shoulders in ratty knots, his beard hanging down his chest. The man rounded on him, eyes like daggers.

"What's your problem, Snape? F—king halfbreed, get the f—k away from me." He turned to Rabastan Lestrange, who looked just as bad for wear, so thin his bones poked out. "Let's move over there, away from this arsewipe."

"Always a pleasure to see you, Dolohov," Severus muttered under his breath.

"Snape?" said a voice from behind him.

Severus turned reluctantly, knowing that voice. He'd been tortured by Mulciber with the consent of the dark lord shortly after joining the Death Eaters, when he'd failed to help murder a family. He'd never forgotten or forgiven. Glaring at the other man, he tried hard not to mock his appearance or odor. That was sure to get the rest of them riled at him, and he'd seen one of them flashing a wand earlier. "What, Mulciber?"

"Just wondering why you're here. I figured the dark lord would've killed the likes of you by now." He guffawed at his own cleverness and meandered off to talk to a group of men as scruffy and grubby as himself. Across the room he shouted, "Hey, Bella, guess who's here? Your very best mate, Snape!" That brought another round of giddy laughs.

Bellatrix peered past the ever growing crowd, their ranks swelled by the Death Eaters still arriving. Catching sight of Severus, she sneered and cooed, "Oooh, Snapey comes to play with the big boys. Couldn't go to prison with us, though." All at once her wand was out, and everyone within range ducked for cover. She walked across the room, holding the wand level at him. "Wanna play, Snape?"

He stared her down; there really wasn't anything else he could do, seeing as she'd hex him to Hades and back if he moved for his wand. "I see your personality has taken a turn for the better since you've been away," he said dryly.

She paused, not sure how to process that. Was he complimenting her? That didn't make sense. She rammed the wand so close it nearly stuck in his nostril, while bending in to growl, "Give me a reason."

And then it happened, as was inevitable, Snape supposed—someone made an off the cuff, stupid remark that sounded like, "You gonna kiss him, Bella? You a halfbreed lover now?"

She whipped around and began firing curses indiscriminately, with everyone running or ducking, until the dark lord bellowed, "_Enough_!"

The entire room went silent. He got up onto the table where all could see him better, and motioned for them to gather round; Bellatrix made a point of cuddling up close to him, like a leech on his leg. His high voice rang out over the room, "My friends, for the first time in fourteen years we are all together again. I cannot express my glee at the fulfillment of my plans. Let us welcome our returned comrades!"

Heavy applause rang through the air, together with hoots from the escaped convicts.

He'd shaken off Bella's grip and begun striding the length of the table, theatrically waving his arms in expressions of happiness. A giggle escaped him, and Snape glanced at Lucius, who glanced back then stared stoically ahead. No way in hell was he going to touch that!

"Now that we are all united, we shall stand firm, we shall be a wave of change to wash over society. We shall bring the joy of serving me to all of humanity."

Severus coughed to mask the snicker trying to force its way from his throat.

Voldemort smiled at his troops, the way a loving parent smiles at a beloved child, though Snape knew better than to mistake it for anything so human. He was pacing slowly again, gesticulating with his hands. "First order of business—"

"A bath and haircut," chuckled one of the recently-freed men in the back, obviously inebriated.

Voldemort's red eyes narrowed to slits, his wand had appeared in his fingers, and he aimed it directly at the man. "Need I teach a lesson your very first day back, Travers?"

"My lord, no," gulped Travers, falling to his knees, sniveling. "Forgive me, it's been so long since I had anyone to talk to, I speak out of turn." His head reached the floor, so low was his bow. "Forgive your ungrateful servant."

Nodding, satisfied with the answer, Voldemort returned to surveying the crowd. "Let us try to remember manners. Now, as I was saying, our first priority is to retrieve a certain prophecy from the Department of Mysteries…"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_The dark lord is thrilled. If there is anything more terrifying than seeing him in an angry state, it is watching him prance around in ecstasy. He has convinced the dementors to free ten Death Eaters from Azkaban, and that idiot Fudge believes Black is behind it. When did common sense become illegal? _

_ I can't put into words the delight I feel at seeing my old comrades again…perhaps because 'delight' is hardly the word. Dolohov is the same sadistic arse he always was, Mulciber is lucky I didn't curse him on general principles, the Lestrange brothers ignored me as they always have. And Bellatrix…how does one describe Bellatrix? She emerged from Azkaban even more batshit crazy than she went in, and she was a psychopath then. Now she and Voldemort have that much more in common._

_ Trelawney has been sacked. Firenze has been hired in her stead, and I say good riddance. To her, that is. Nothing personal, she's had a few lucky hits, but centaurs are definitely connected to 'the other side', or whatever it is those charlatans like Trelawney call it. The fact that Toad-face Umbridge hates him for being only part human makes me like him all the more. With his white-blond hair and good looks, I can't help but wonder if he is what the spawn of Lucius and a horse would look like. I think I'll forego mentioning that to the Malfoys, they can get a bit testy._

_ Potter's little illicit group has been discovered, but Albus took the blame for it and is currently on the lam. I'd be far happier to be rid of him if that bitch Umbridge hadn't named herself Head Dictator. I am simply gobsmacked that neither the Toad nor Fudge has the capacity to see through that whole ridiculous lie—Dumbledore creating an army of urchins to fight the Ministry and trained aurors in a coup. Really?_

_ Marietta Edgecombe has been scarred, perhaps permanently, by a curse placed on the parchment the brats signed. I suspect Granger is behind that one, none of the rest are clever enough. What ticks me beyond measure is the hypocrisy of those blasted Gryffindorks. Those who proclaim so loudly to loathe the Dark Arts have no qualms about using them, do they? Just like the sainted James Potter and his cronies never hesitated to use them to torment me, even stealing my own curses! And I must point out how Weasley and Potter protested so vociferously when Granger's teeth grew—courtesy of a duel Potter was instigating, and in which Goyle was much more severely injured—yet I was condemned for not feeling pity for her. Where is the compassion for Marietta or Goyle? Silence? I thought so. _

_ When I left the room to aid a student, that bastard Potter took the opportunity to peer into my memories in the pensieve. I'll bet he's still laughing over the 'prank' his darling father pulled on me. If I ever catch that whelp in my office again, I may just strangle him. I don't care what Dumbledore or Lupin or anyone else says, I'll be ice skating on a rink in hell before I attempt Occlumency with him again._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"_He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden_." Potter looked at him with desperation shouting from his eyes, hoping he'd understand.

Snape swore inwardly, though not a hint of emotion showed through. Feigning ignorance, he left Umbridge's office, and as soon as he was sure no one could see him, he broke into a run. By the time he'd made it to his own office, he was out of breath. He took a few seconds to gulp in air, then thought rapidly to himself: If he floo-called Black, it could be traced; he'd rather not go see the git if he could avoid it; Protean charms…unreliable if Black wasn't carrying it with him.

He took out his wand and growled, "_Expecto patronum_." A large, silvery doe burst from the end of his wand and pranced about, waiting for instruction. "Go to Sirius Black at 12 Grimmauld Place, London. Tell him to send me a patronus message letting me know he is still alive and well and hasn't gone out anywhere."

The doe bounded out the window, across the grounds, and was gone. Pacing in his room, Severus waited for the return message. What if Potter was right, what if the dark lord wasn't just tricking him, as he'd planned, but had actually got hold of Black? As much as he despised the prat, it was his responsibility to protect Potter, and that would be very hard to do if Potter went running off into an ambush…and knowing the idiot child, that's exactly what he'd do. The dark lord was generally right about him.

On tenterhooks, he waited a good five minutes, then suddenly a very bedraggled animal came bounding up the lawn toward his window. Severus thought at first it was simply Sirius in his dog form, but the silvery colour gave it away. Upon closer inspection, he saw that it was a wolf. It leapt through his window and landed beside the Potions master.

In the voice of Black, the wolf practically barked, "What the f—k is your problem, Snape? It's not enough you taunt me in person, now you send your patronus to do it? I'm sure you'll be ecstatic to know I'm still cooped up here being _useless_. Now bugger off!"

Severus let out a breath of relief that he didn't even know he'd been holding in. Good, Black hadn't done anything stupid…yet. Gathering himself into his impassive façade, Severus left the room once more, headed back to Umbridge's office to see what he could find out, and halted suddenly, slipping behind a stone column. Umbridge, Potter, and Granger were all on their way out, Umbridge with her wand in the children's backs, and they were headed in the direction of the Forbidden Forest. That didn't bode well.

He hurried up to the office, where Draco and the other members of the Inquisitorial Squad were holding Harry's friends. He went in without knocking, and almost got a hex to the face for his trouble. Crabbe's spell went awry and hit the doorjamb a good six inches away.

"Sorry, Professor, I thought you was…uh…"

Snape returned a dour, fierce glare. "Do that again, Crabbe, and you'll learn why they call me the Bat of the Dungeons. Hint: it has nothing to do with my clothing."

"What does it mean?" the boy asked dully.

"Think Beater's bat," said Draco, smirking.

Crabbe scrunched his face in thought for a moment, then his features registered terror. "I'm sorry, sir. I am!"

Snape rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Draco, outside with me. Now."

He stepped outside, with Draco following passively behind. They closed the door, and Severus said, "Where did Potter go with Headmistress Umbridge?"

"I don't know exactly where, but to find something!" the youth exclaimed with delight, eyes shining. "Granger said Dumbledore's Army built some weapon for him, and she'd show it to Professor Umbridge."

"A weapon?" repeated Severus, brows dipping. "What sort of weapon?"

"I don't know, but it seems like it's pretty strong. Too bad we can't have a go at it, huh, sir?" He almost danced with glee at the idea. For some reason, it made Severus want to slap him.

"Very well." He turned to walk off, leaving Draco standing bemusedly in the hallway. He went outside and stationed himself at a location from which he could watch the forest for when they came out. It was, after all, a dangerous place, but Umbridge was a trained witch. They should be fine.

After the better part of an hour had passed, Snape looked at his pocket watch. Surely whatever they'd been doing can't have been so far into the forest that they'd not yet returned. What if they left from another direction and he'd been watching this one all along? He berated himself perfunctorily; there was only so much one man was capable of doing. He stood up, eyes never leaving the treeline, as he began to pace again. After a few more minutes passed, he started to suspect the Brat-Wonder and his crony had overpowered Umbridge and escaped, possibly to run for the Ministry. If that were the case, he had no time to lose.

Dashing across the lawn, he headed for the gate, beyond which he was free to disapparate. Once he'd cleared it, he immediately disappeared, to reappear on the doorstep to Grimmauld Place, and set to knocking madly. The door was opened by Mad-eye Moody, who hadn't time to demand what he wanted before Severus shoved his way into the narrow foyer.

"Is Black here?"

"What?"

"Is. Black. Here?" Snape demanded loudly, bringing in Lupin, Tonks, and Shacklebolt from down below in the kitchen.

Sirius came sauntering up the stairs, then rolled his eyes and exclaimed, "For crying out loud, don't you ever stop? I told you—"

"Potter is gone," said Severus. Still panting from the exertion of running all the way across the grounds, then apparating here, without pausing at their incredulous stares, he said, "Umbridge took them into the Forbidden Forest and they haven't come out yet. I think he may have slipped off to go to the Department of Mysteries. He thinks Voldemort has got you there." He jerked his head at Sirius.

"Why would he think that?" asked Sirius in a voice that reeked of disbelief.

"Because he's an uncooperative, obtuse little whelp who refused to practice his Occlumency!" Snape shot back. "I informed you all that the dark lord was planning to invade his mind, lure him there to fetch the prophecy—and what better way to lure Potter than to make him think the dark lord's got _you_." By now his breathing had begun to return to normal. "He said in code to me, 'He's got Padfoot at the place where it's hidden.' What else could it mean?"

"We'd better get a move on, then," said Moody.

"Right with you," said Lupin.

"I'll notify Dumbledore before we leave," offered Tonks, racing from the room.

"Black, you should stay here to tell Dumbledore what's going on," Severus warned. "He'll be here soon."

"I should stay? I think not." Sirius was already stowing his wand in his pocket and putting on his cloak. "Kreacher can tell him what's going on."

"You're not supposed to be leaving!" Snape insisted forcefully.

Sirius walked right up to him till they were nose to nose. "You make me stay, or get the hell out of the way." With that he shoved Snape in the chest, hard enough to rock him to the side and walk past.

As he went by, Severus remarked nastily, "Are you sure he's not your son? You're just as dense and rash as he is." He took the opportunity to push past Sirius this time and went out the door, then turned to say, "I'm going back to the forest to search in case something went wrong in there. God knows that boy draws trouble like dung draws flies." Then he disapparated.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Black is dead. I really thought I'd be a lot happier to hear that. In spite of what the whelp may think, it is not MY fault, it is his own. Had he learned Occlumency as I tried very hard to teach him, he'd have closed his mind and not been tricked into going to the Department of Mysteries to begin with. Oh, and Dumbledore's fault for not being honest with Potter from the start. How are we supposed to work together to defeat Voldemort when no one is allowed any information?_

_ While I'm assigning culpability, Potter is primarily to blame for Lucius being sent to Azkaban, along with Nott, Goyle, Crabbe, and several others. If he hadn't gone to the sodding Ministry, the Death Eaters wouldn't have gone, either. Narcissa is hysterical over the whole affair. The Death Eaters' boys here in Hogwarts are understandably distraught, though the sentence is only a year. Of course, a year in that horrible place is like a lifetime…and may be a lifetime if they don't make it out. I feel unutterably wretched over that, sending word to the Order that caused my best friend to be incarcerated. And Nott, I guess I sort of like him, too. Merlin's ghost, I hate my life. _


	12. Summer after Book 5

7

The Snape Chronicles—Summer after Book 5

"Get in there and shut up!" Severus pushed Peter through the door of his home at Spinner's End, making the small man stumble and fall to his knees on the threadbare carpet. "I'd never let you within ten miles of my house without the dark lord's order."

Panting, Peter rolled over and bounced to his feet, exhibiting much more agility than Snape gave him credit for. "Maybe the dark lord doesn't trust you, maybe he sent me here to spy on you," taunted the rat man.

Snape snorted openly. "If Lord Voldemort wished to spy on me, he'd send someone competent."

Eyes darting to and fro, Peter paced the tiny parlor bordered on all sides by books. Was this the entire house? One pitiful room? He looked sidelong at the other. "I managed to give him the information that almost killed Harry Potter—I got him into the house! Wasn't my fault the stupid brat didn't die."

There didn't exist many things to say that could have been more wrong. Severus pounced on him, wand drawn and jammed into Peter's neck, and the little man whimpered. "You led him right to Lily, you son of a bitch. You're the reason she's dead!"

Peter sniveled a bit more, every so often high squeaks of terror breaking out. "You—you took the dark lord the prophecy, so it's your fault, too."

As if the air had gone out of his sails, Severus released Pettigrew and he fell like a lump onto the floor once more. Yes, he had given part of the prophecy to Voldemort, without which the hunt for the Potters never would have begun. Wormtail couldn't have completed the treachery without that, could he? "I told you to shut the f—k up."

Peter scurried across the floor on hands and knees, into the farthest corner, which wasn't all that far away. "The dark lord won't let you kill me. I should tell him you're in love with Lily, I'm sure he'd find that—"

Snape lunged at him and he screamed and cowered. "The dark lord knows about my feelings, you perfidious bastard! I asked him to spare her life when I knew he'd be going after the baby!" Chest heaving, he stared down the coward, his wand aimed at Peter the entire time, as he mentally assessed the situation. He mustn't do anything to cause the dark lord's trust in him to fail; he mustn't give away too much; he must use these circumstances to the best advantage, even if finding any advantages at this point in time seemed difficult. Forcing down his rage, forcing the mask of calm back onto his face, he stepped back and put his wand into his pocket. "You've been ordered here as my assistant. I'll show you around."

He strode to the wall opposite the door, took hold of the edge of a bookcase, and swung it free to reveal a narrow staircase. "Your room is up here."

So saying he began clomping up the steps with Pettigrew mincing timidly behind him. They arrived at a tiny landing; the only room upstairs was straight ahead, and they went on in. It wasn't a large room, but neither was it as small as the parlor downstairs. A full size, well worn bed took up most of one wall, a rickety desk set in front of the sole window with a cracked pane, but the thing that caught attention immediately was the enormous metal wheel resembling those inside a hamster cage, but tall enough for an adult to fit inside, set next the wall across from the bed.

"What is that for?" asked Peter. He gave it a push and it spun round a couple of times.

"Exercise," said Severus snidely. "I bought it especially for you."

Peter flushed at the implication. "I'm not a gerbil!"

"Gerbil, rat, what's the difference?" As Severus turned to go back downstairs he added, "I'll expect to hear it squeaking as you run. Unless I get a leash for you, I can't let you roam the streets, you know. People like to kill rats…then again, it would solve more than one problem. By all means, have at it." He sneered and stomped down the stairs.

Huffing indignantly, Pettigrew stormed down after him, arriving into the parlor once more. Snape made a gesture to the left of the stairway door. "That is the door to my room."

Peter grabbed hold of the bookcase, but the instant he began to pull, a bolt of electricity shot through his silver hand and his whole body seemed illuminated from within. For a brief moment his bones almost showed right through his skin. He shrieked and let go, shaking profusely, then turned an accusing countenance Snape's way.

"Oh, did I forget to mention I am the only one who can open it? How careless of me." Pursing his lips into a satisfied smirk, he indicated to the right of the staircase. "This one leads to the loo—no, it isn't booby trapped. The one here—" He jerked open a door to the far right, "—is the kitchen." Leading the way, he waved a hand about the dingy, drab, obviously little-used room. "Now that you're here, I can finally get this place cleaned up. I hope you can cook."

"I wasn't sent as your housekeeper," Peter squeaked.

"You were sent to do whatever I want you to do, Wormtail," Severus replied menacingly. His foot kicked at a metal trap on the floor. "Were I you, I'd be cautious of turning into an animagus form. You may find navigating the place much more difficult." He didn't mention the alarm-spell he'd put over the house, to be triggered in the event of an animagus transfiguration; it was set to notify Snape, as well as pitched to the hearing frequency of a rodent, to induce bladder elimination. Let the rat figure it out for himself. He'd been warned. "First off, scrub the sink and counters. You'll find supplies under there…"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Snape arrived in the early evening when dusk had yet to fall and the dilapidated Riddle house was cast in gloomy shadows from the trees beyond. It struck him that nothing about this house was cheerful, not even the twisted rose bushes out front, which had known pruning until the caretaker had been murdered two years ago. Now they grew in wild patches, too tall, unattractive sprawling plants. The place seemed very mausoleum-like even from the outside, and tomb-like from the inside; indeed, from his vantage point he could view the graveyard where the dark lord had become reborn.

As always, he hesitated briefly, gathering his courage and blocking his thoughts, before entering. The first thing he saw was Bellatrix sauntering down the hallway in his direction, and he rolled his eyes in disgust, pinching his lips tight. She spied him and her dark eyes narrowed to slits.

"What do you want here, Snape?" she hissed, almost as if trying to keep her voice down—an effort she had never made in the past.

He couldn't resist a mocking sneer. "So, you're still on the dark lord's shit list? I'd have thought he told you everything…oh, but that was before you fouled up retrieving the prophecy." He walked past her, ignoring her venomous exhalation of air. If he could make it to the parlor before she hexed him, he'd be fine. He stepped up the pace and rounded the corner, then heard an irritated, shrill growl before a door slammed loudly.

Voldemort sat in a raggedy armchair facing the fireplace, which was unlit. He glanced up as Snape entered, but his face offered no welcome. "Come in, Severus. I've longed to speak to one of my Death Eaters that I can trust."

Though Snape could not honestly say he relished the idea of being that person, it was an honour to be considered worthy of trust, particularly when Bellatrix had previously held that high position. With a good deal of Death Eaters currently in prison, pickings were slim, at best. Nonetheless, he'd not failed the dark lord as had the others, and that counted for something…not much in that insane mind of the dark lord, but something.

"I am always at your beck and call," Severus murmured, bowing. Just to be on the safe side, he knelt on one knee. "How may I serve you, my lord?"

"Things look bleak, my friend," began Voldemort in his high, unnerving voice. "I had so desired that prophecy, and now it is lost forever. My Death Eaters that I toiled to free from Azkaban have been returned there, along with even more of my followers." He sighed, and Severus could swear it sounded like he was depressed. At least he'd gotten over the fury of the first week or so, when he'd hexed everyone and everything within sight.

"All is not lost, my lord," Severus said softly, tentatively. When no curse came hurtling his way, he went on, "You orchestrated a breakout once, surely you can do it again."

"To what end?" asked Voldemort, staring into the fireplace grate at the old, charred wood. "They deserve to be punished for their incompetence. If it were within my means this moment, I'd torture the lot of them."

So much for helpful small talk. Severus tried again with, "To be fair, Dumbledore showed up and ruined everything. They didn't stand much of a chance against his magic."

Voldemort's head swiveled in his direction, and for a second Snape thought it might completely rotate around. The red eyes fixed upon him. "Are you implying I am somehow unfair, Severus?"

"No! No, master. I meant only that we must consider all aspects of that night." _Shut up, Snape, just shut the hell up before he crucio's you!_ He shifted on his knee, from where he'd not dared get up without permission.

The dark lord's mouth twisted into a semblance of a smile. "I have done little else since that night. And I have come to a decision: we are going to rid ourselves of that meddling, doddering old fool Dumbledore once and for all. After he is gone, Hogwarts will become my headquarters, we will train the children to be true disciples, and we will proceed to take over the Ministry of Magic. From there, my dream of world domination will be within reach."

What to say? A thought so beastly as Voldemort ruling the world was hardly one to champion, nor one to disparage if he cared to leave here alive. Thoughts ripped through Severus' mind at warp speed, not landing long enough to grab hold of, and he was pretty sure none of them were appropriate to say anyway, unless he desired a prolonged session of Cruciatus. Voldemort planned to kill Dumbledore…that didn't have to be wholly bad, did it? Yes, it did! Dumbledore was trying—in his egotistical, maddening manner—to get rid of the most evil wizard the world had ever known, and despite his own megalomaniacal tendencies, Albus was not as bad as Voldemort. Allowing the children to be indoctrinated as young Death Eaters must not be permitted, and—well, was there anything about Voldemort's speech that was noble or desirable? Not really. Snape kept silent.

"What's wrong, Severus? Nothing to say?"

"Uh…I…don't know what to say, my lord," he stammered. "Dumbledore is very powerful, not exactly an easy mark."

Voldemort's high laugh rang in the room. "You fear taking him on, do you? I can't blame you, I suppose. But you aren't the one I have in mind." Again the red eyes turned his way, narrowed to mere slits of fire. "Bellatrix brought Draco Malfoy to me. The boy was begging for his father, that I might save him." He laughed again, scornfully. "Save Lucius? After his disgraceful performance? No, I think not."

There was a long period of silence. Severus shifted again, the pain in his knee becoming unbearably intense from the hard wood beneath him. He slid his other leg down to take the weight off, sharing the load. This was bad news, very bad. Did Lord Voldemort not intend to rescue the Death Eaters as he'd done so recently? Was Lucius slated to murder Dumbledore? Or would Lucius be forced to rot in prison instead?

But no, Sturgis Podmore had received six months for attempting to break into the Department of Mysteries. Lucius and the others had succeeded in breaking in…what were the charges they'd been assigned? Trespass and attempted theft. The Ministry couldn't keep them in prison merely for being members of a group like the Death Eaters, they had to proffer charges for a specific crime, and so far the only crimes had been breaking into the Department of Mysteries and assaulting some children. No one was hurt, and the damage done to the department had been done by the children, so the sentence of a year seemed fair. Well, alright, Black had died—at Bella's hand, but she hadn't been captured.

"My lord, if I may?" He waited for the other to nod slowly. "Taking over the world is a daunting task. Wouldn't it behoove us to wait for a year until the rest of our members are back in the fold—Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Macnair, Avery? As for the others like the Lestranges, Travers, and Dolohov, whose sentences are for life, will you rescue them from Azkaban so that they can help us achieve your dream?"

"I told you, Severus, they deserve to suffer." His countenance took on a hard edge. "When I feel they have endured enough, I may consider it. Do not mention it again. In the meantime, we can busy ourselves with eliminating the ancient nuisance." He seemed to notice for the first time that Snape was kneeling at his feet, and gestured to the empty chair to his left. "Sit up here beside me."

Severus gratefully struggled up, his knees popping as loudly as logs on a fire, and he eased himself into the chair. He was getting too old for all this bowing and scraping.

Voldemort rubbed his palms together gleefully. "Draco Malfoy has asked me to allow him to take his father's place among us, to make up for his father's failure so that I might forgive."

A pang shot through Snape's chest. Draco asked to…what had he asked? "Are you saying Draco wishes to become a Death Eater?"

"Yes, Snape, that's exactly what I'm saying. In fact, I marked him with the Dark Mark only yesterday, with his proud mother and aunt in attendance. Tomorrow I plan to give him his assignment so he has ample time to dwell on it before the new school term starts."

Unable to contain his shock, Severus sat there staring at the dark lord, who chuckled at the sight. At last, gaining his voice, he choked out, "What task have you set him, if I may ask?"

The dark lord's thin lips drew back over his teeth in a frightening smile. "You may. I have decided that he shall kill our beloved old coot of a headmaster. If he succeeds, we are rid of Dumbledore; if not…well, Lucius earned this, didn't he?"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Narcissa came to see me regarding Draco's assignment to murder Dumbledore. Bellatrix, in her usual bitchy way, took over and accused me of all manner of betrayal and treachery toward Lord Voldemort, though my answers shut her up, for the moment. Narcissa was hysterical, with good reason: her only son is being pitted against the greatest wizard of our time, and it isn't a stretch to assume that in a duel Draco will lose, and lose badly. In such a case I daresay Dumbledore wouldn't dispatch the boy, only incapacitate him; however, I doubt Draco is foolish enough to try dueling with the only wizard the dark lord fears. He's sneaky, he will try other tactics…since I've informed Albus of what is occurring, he will be ready for whatever Draco can dream up, and in the end I worry that Draco will be caught, tried for attempted murder, and sent to Azkaban. Is this better than death? I honestly don't know. Whatever the case, if Dumbledore isn't dead by the end of the year, the dark lord will likely butcher Draco and his family. It's the way he works. There is one proviso…Dumbledore knows he is dying, he's made me promise to kill him if worst comes to worst. I can spare Draco that, at least, unless he does something very stupid when I'm not around._

_It tore at my heart to see how distraught Narcissa was, but there was nothing I could do, especially not in front of Bellatrix. I made an Unbreakable Vow to protect Draco, and to take out Dumbledore if necessary, and I will do it even though I don't relish the idea of killing anyone. I wish it wouldn't come to that, but things in my life have a way of working out for the worst. I can't make the dark lord reconsider, and trying would be suicidal. He has warned me to drop the subject of Lucius and Draco; even the dark lord's new right hand man must obey. I sense Draco resents the position he believes I stole from his father, but I didn't ask for it. I didn't ask for any of this. I so hate my f—king life._


	13. Book 6 Part 1

8

The Snape Chronicles—Book 6 Part 1

_ Now that Black has gone and got himself killed by Bellatrix, Potter has inherited his house. The Order of the Phoenix will continue to meet there, and thankfully that creepy little elf Kreacher will be working at Hogwarts in the kitchens, where the other elves can keep an eye on him. I swear, he's as bad as any pureblood fanatic about halfbloods and muggleborns. I can't count the number of times he's imitated the words of his dead mistress when calling me foul names; why, it's almost like listening to dear Bellatrix, except his rasping, grating voice is angelic compared to her shrill, banshee-like tirades. _

_ Because the brat was either too stupid or too lazy to learn Occlumency—and the jury is out on that one—the dark lord has taken it upon himself to utilize Occlumency himself to keep the wretch out of his head. He doesn't want Dumbledore gaining any information that way. Can't say I blame him._

_ Horace Slughorn, my old Potions instructor, has come back to Hogwarts for the year to teach Potions, freeing me to take the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts. It's about freaking time! How many years have I applied for it now? I've lost count. It's basically become a protest statement on my part, since I assumed Albus, in his secretive, self-aggrandizing wisdom, would never give it to me._

_ Speaking of Albus, he injured himself trying to destroy a horcrux he tracked down. Any idiot should have known Lord Voldemort would have cursed it! And why did he not enlist me to help track down the damned horcrux? I know as much as or more than he does about the Dark Arts, and my paranoia would certainly have prevented me from touching the blasted ring! Doddering old fool…. Now he's going to die and leave me to figure out how to find and obliterate the rest of the horcruxes—oh yes, he informs me there are several—and dispatch the dark lord as well. Must I do everything?_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Narcissa shifted uncomfortably in her expensive, antique chair, glancing every so often at the fireplace, then the doorway. She twisted her fingers in her necklace over and over. "Ever since he took the Dark Mark, he's been different, Severus. It's like he's hiding something. Since I know about his mission from the dark lord, it isn't that."

"I sense the same thing," Snape replied, automatically looking sidelong at the doorway with her. "Has your sister perchance been teaching him Occlumency?"

"Well, I don't know," Narcissa hedged, knitting her brows. Had Severus been trying to read Draco's mind with Legilimency? "I wouldn't doubt it. Why?"

"No reason." That explained Snape's inability to easily access Draco's mind—and surely that vindictive bitch Bellatrix had been feeding the boy liberal doses of anti-Snape venom as well. Along with the already caustic levels of resentment seething in the child, this made for a volatile mix indeed. "I dare say Lucius would have a fit if he knew how his son has been behaving."

"We can't blame him entirely," Narcissa burst out, ever ready to defend her only son. "Recently at Madam Malkins clothing store, Harry Potter and his disgusting friends raised their wands to us, trying to hex us, and said snide things. Draco defended me as a good son should."

Scowling, Severus let out a hard breath through his nostrils. "Were it within my means to do so, Narcissa, I'd teach that unruly monster Potter a lesson he'd never forget."

"We can always hope the dark lord accomplishes that for us," she answered, smiling faintly.

_He may do just that,_ Severus mused inwardly. The moronic child had no defenses except his hated Professor, Dumbledore, and the lucky guesswork and spells of his friends; if Potter ever managed more than an _expelliarmus_, Snape might just faint from shock. At last, sensing she was waiting for a response, he said, "There is nothing we can do at present. If Draco gives you any indication of how he intends to accomplish his task, please let me know. He refuses to confide in me anymore."

"He resents you, he thinks you took Lucius' position deliberately," said Narcissa sadly.

"Which you and I both know to be false," he said, studying her for reaction. She nodded, giving him a small bit of comfort. "I should return to school. Dumbledore will wonder why I've been gone all afternoon when I ought to be preparing for classes to begin."

"Congratulations. I forgot to mention it," Narcissa said, smiling. "You finally got the post you've had your heart set on."

"Yes, finally. It's been so long I scarcely know what to teach, Potions keep floating into my brain when I think of lesson plans." He grinned, making him seem all of a sudden much younger, more vulnerable.

Narcissa placed one of her hands on top of his. "You are excellent at Dark Arts. I have complete faith in whatever you decide to teach."

"Isn't this touching?" came a scathing voice from across the room. Bellatrix swaggered into the room, wand out, held in her fingertips as she crossed her arms. "Wouldn't blondie love to see this?"

Gasping, Narcissa pulled away, then her initial shock turned into a look of anger. "His name is Lucius, Bella! And he would not begrudge me talking to his dear old friend."

"Hand holding isn't precisely the same thing, is it?" she shot back.

"We weren't holding hands! Why do you have to be like this?"

"Like what? Looking out for the family? Someone has to." Bella seated herself primly on the sofa, her tiny skirt ironically riding up as she crossed her legs, making her resemble a hooker on the prowl.

Snape stood up, giving Bella a withering stare. "Lucius is my best friend—"

"Only friend," Bella countered nastily.

"—and I would sooner die than betray him." The fact that he had, indeed, betrayed him to the Order and caused him to land in Azkaban made his heart constrict painfully, but he went on without expression, "Perhaps you're confusing my friendship with Narcissa because you're incapable of maintaining a sane relationship yourself. I pity you."

"How dare you, halfbreed," Bella snarled.

"Narcissa, thank you for inviting me over, but I must get back to school." He let her give him a chaste hug, then turned to the other witch. "Bellatrix, always a pleasure to experience your surly nature."

He ignored the expletive flung after him as he entered the floo to return to Hogwarts.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Classes have begun once again. Oh, the joy. Will the blatant favouritism never end? Slughorn allowed Potter into his Advanced class, just as he let in the urchin's unqualified father all those years ago. I suppose their glaring mediocrity makes him feel superior—or more likely it's because the elder Potter was rich and the brat is famous. Sickening. And surprise, surprise, Slughorn has recruited Potter for his Slug Club. Even though I was the most talented Potions student he'd ever taught—his words, not mine—I don't recall ever receiving an invitation from Slughorn when I was a boy. But then, a greasy, poverty-stricken lad doesn't merit favour, does he? He'll never amount to anything. Lucius, whose aptitude for Potions was dismal at best (although still better than Potter), was in Slughorn's snooty little club…but he's loaded and extremely well connected. Do we see a pattern here?_

_ Well, mustn't dwell. It makes me want to kill something…or someone. Dumbledore has enlisted the help of the Ministry for protection, and they sent a team of aurors to guard Hogwarts round the clock. While good for the students, it does cramp my style. Apparently someone tipped them off to my Death Eater past. Several of the aurors have taken it upon themselves to follow __me__ around, watching me as though I'm going to suddenly turn maniacal and murder everyone around me. Who could blame me if I did? Nonetheless, were that the case, I dare say it would have happened years ago._

_ Joyful note: Draco broke Potter's nose on the train for eavesdropping on him and his friends. I heard the students in class talking about it. Of course I have to pretend I don't know so I can appear to be impartial—oh, who am I trying to kid? I could be a veritable, certified saint and the brainless twit and his posse would make me out as the devil incarnate. It doesn't matter one rip whether I act impartial, I will be tarred as evil. What was my point again?_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"Now that you've finished sorting the rotten flobberworms from the good ones, I have a whole barrel full of bats to de-brain," Severus drawled, giving the Boy-Who-Was-Just-Begging-For-Hexing a particularly nasty glare. It had been two hours and the brat had barely finished his task, one that a competent student could have accomplished in half the time.

"I was told my detention was to sort the flobberworms," Harry snarled back as he wiped the foul smelling goo from his hands onto his shirt.

"Told by whom? Not I," Snape replied loftily. "Of course, I suppose you think you have more important things to do, like slink about the castle under your invisibility cloak, spying on teachers or your fellow students."

"You don't know what I think is important," Harry growled back, trying to make it low enough not to be heard, yet angry enough not to care.

Snape whirled on him, black eyes shining, teeth clenched. "You're right, Potter, I don't. I can't fathom whatever it is that your tiny little mind contemplates when it ought to be learning to defend itself, when you should be listening to those who know what they're talking about instead of consulting your ill-informed friends when there is a problem. I don't begin to pretend to understand why you can't simply do as you're told and shut the hell up!" He literally had to bite his tongue to stop before his diatribe began to rival one of Bella's deranged screeds.

Harry slid along the edge of the lab table, well out of reach, before retorting, "If Dumbledore wasn't around, I think you'd kill me yourself, that's what I think! I believe you're a Death Eater still, and even if Dumbledore trusts you, I never will."

Practically grinding his teeth now, Snape leaned over the table, hands gripping the sides, letting his robes scrape the surface. "If I wanted to kill you, Potter, you'd be dead. As to _hurting_ you, well—let's just say the last thing I want to do is hurt you. But it's still on my list." Sneering mightily, he stood up straight, pointed at the barrel of bats, and commanded, "Get to work. And if you destroy a single brain, I'll make sure you don't play Quidditch for the rest of the year. I know _that_ is important to you."

He whirled, billowing his robes for dramatic effect, and stalked from the room. On his way out he cast a charm on the door to let him know if the whelp tried to sneak away before being given leave to do so. He glanced at the clock on the wall: ten thirty. Potter could do with another hour or two of work, get him nice and sleepy so he'd be too tired to make trouble, at least this evening. At the moment, Severus needed to check on his snakes, particularly Draco. The boy was acting too secretive, too aloof, and that didn't even include his evident disapproval of his godfather for taking Lucius' place as Voldemort's right hand man. He really did not need this, there was enough crap in his life without Draco acting out!

He'd gone not more than twenty meters down the corridor when a balding, middle-aged auror popped out from behind a corner. Severus rolled his eyes and kept walking. He couldn't resist remarking as he passed, "Haven't you more pressing matters than to stalk me?"

"Like what?" challenged the auror, fingering the wand in his hand as he did indeed start trailing the professor.

"Oh, I don't know…protecting the children, perhaps?" shot back Snape, twisting his neck to cast one of his trademarked glowers the man's way.

"Keeping a Death Eater in line is protecting them," said the auror. The look was lost on him, not surprisingly since he was older than Severus and more than a little rough around the edges himself. It would take more than a frightening visage to shake him.

Snape snorted quietly. That glare would have sent the younger aurors quaking in their boots, especially the ones who'd had the misfortune—er, the fortune of being his students. "So sorry to ruin your night, but I've matters to attend to that do not include you." So saying he stomped off toward the Slytherin common room, and upon arriving muttered the password so softly the auror couldn't hear. The door swung open and Snape went in, letting the door smack shut behind him.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Well, that hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. For the most part his snakes were doing fine, they were in their rooms except for a few still studying in the common room, and he'd needed to call out and lecture only one student on misbehavior in class and another on teetering grades. Draco, however, was neither in his room nor in the common room, and that meant he was in violation of the rules. Great. Now he'd have to scold Draco for that next time he saw him…how was he supposed to do that when he was trying to get back on the boy's good side? Damn, it was hard to be nice to people!

Frowning to himself, he strolled out of the Slytherin quarters toward his own, when he noticed a fat, pearly white, transparent being with short, tonsured hair hovering above him. The ghost, dressed in a monk's habit secured by a rope belt, drifted down until he was level with Severus, lifting his mug in greeting.

"Hello, Severus."

"Friar. What are you doing in the dungeons?" asked Severus, more curious than confrontational.

"I don't have to stay in the Hufflepuff arena," the Fat Friar replied, gliding up alongside Snape. "I've been noticing you of late. What's got you so blue?"

"If I were _blue_," Severus said, deliberately drawling out the word, "and I'm not saying I am, I highly doubt I'd come running to you to discuss it," he snarled, speeding up. "I also might note that I don't appreciate you spying on me."

The ghost simply sped up with him, smiling in that jovial manner that made the professor want to jab him in the eye with his wand. No one should be that happy, especially if they were dead! What did he have to be happy about? "Must you hover?" he snapped.

"What's your hurry? Want to get back to Harry Potter in your laboratory?"

Oh, shit, he'd forgotten he left the brat there! "No. Why are you badgering me? Oh, right—it's your House mascot!" He rounded the corner, stopped, and doubled back, but the ghost was too quick and floating next to him as if it were a game.

"Oh come on, Severus, we're friends." The Fat Friar observed the dour look on the other's face and amended it to, "Well, not enemies, and I hear things. I know You-Know-Who is back, and you've got a lot on your plate. I used to be a priest, you know. I could take your confession—most people feel so much better after unburdening themselves."

Trying unsuccessfully to skirt around the ghost, Severus was forced to stop, look him in his watery, whitish eyes, and say, "Are you intimating I am still a Death Eater? Have you been talking to the Brat-Who-Lived-To-Drive-Me-Mad? At the risk of offending you, Friar—leave me alone. I am not now, nor will I ever be, inclined to confess my sins, failings, or desires to you. Are we clear on that?"

The Friar halted in midair as if struck, looking terribly affronted. "I never said you were still a Death Eater, where did that come from?"

"From what you said! What exactly do you imagine I need to confess?" Snape barked, holding his breath and rushing through the ghost with a ghastly feeling of cold and shivers. He continued his trek back to the Potions laboratory with the Friar on his heels.

"Oh, I get it," the Friar said, nodding sympathetically. "You need time to think. All these years I've seen how lonely you are, you're used to being alone, not having anyone to confide in. Well, never fear. Whenever you want to talk, just call. You can send Peeves to find me." He waved, laughed, and floated up into the ceiling.

"When did I ever say I wanted to confide in you?" Snape shouted after him. Probably working with those damned aurors to get him to confess to some wrongdoing so he'd be sure to end up in Azkaban. Huffing in disgust, he tramped back to his lab to tell the brat to get to his House lest he earn another detention for lingering.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_I. Hate. My. Life._


	14. Book 6 Part 2

7

The Snape Chronicles—Book 6 Part 2

"Mr. Crabbe, if you attempt to look at Mr. Goyle's paper one more time, I will cast a Conjunctivitis hex at you," Severus drawled, lurking up behind the two youths hard at work at their table in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "I am assuming you realize what the curse would do?"

It came out as a question because, quite frankly, he wasn't sure at all that Crabbe had a clue. Hence the two of them in detention studying to pass the DADA O.W.L. that they'd both failed the previous year.

Crabbe hemmed for a few moments, then shrugged his beefy shoulders. "I don' know. I just know it ain't good."

Snape stamped round the table and pounded his finger down at question number four of their quiz. "It's right there!" He stopped to read Crabbe's answer, then sighed heavily. "It is not the joining of two people's junk, you dunderhead." Goyle looked over and snickered, prompting Severus to snatch up his paper. He scanned it quickly, barely stopping himself from banging his own head and those of the boys on the tabletop. For signs of a werewolf, he'd put down 'Big teethe, loads of hair, and body oder.'

"You've had an hour, and this is the best you can do after our last detention?" Snape scowled. Holding up Goyle's paper, he remarked tightly, "_Expect a Patronus_ is not how to conjure a patronus."

"We don't have to conjure one," Goyle said defensively, throwing his arms up in front of him for protection when Snape glared daggers his way. He inched down in his seat.

Severus continued reading both test papers. They had both gotten _expelliarmus_ correct, as well as the three Unforgivable Curses, though if they'd managed to mess up those simple questions, Snape feared he might have to kill them to save humanity from their stupidity. "I see you got _furnunculus_ right, Gregory." Seeing as he'd been hit with it on at least one occasion, that made sense. "Crabbe, do you think this is funny? 'A dementor's kiss is when it fancies you and wants to snog'."

Crabbe sniggered and nodded. Goyle looked unsure as to whether he dared join in the frivolity. He knew it was the wrong answer—Vince knew it too, why did he put that down? The professor's reaction made clear to him that he'd made the right choice in not laughing.

Severus slammed the papers onto his desk with a loud _whack_ that jarred the desk and both students in the process, then slowly turned to Crabbe, wand out. "Get up, Vincent. Defend yourself."

Swallowing hard, Crabbe rose from his seat. "Malfoy said we don't need this stuff. You ain't gonna hurt me, are you?"

"That depends on you, doesn't it?" replied the teacher in a silky, dangerous tone. "If you can deflect my spells or use the correct counterjinxes, you should be fine." He motioned with his wand over to the area of the room with no tables.

Crabbe trudged over, took out his wand, and held it at ready. Snape's first hex—silent, as were they all—knocked Crabbe on his rump, and he skidded to a halt as the stone floor ripped at his trousers.

"That was pitiful. You didn't even try to defend yourself."

"How can I when I can't hear what you're sayin'?" Crabbe moaned.

Another spell rolled him over the floor right into the rungs of a chair, crunching his face painfully against them. A stinging hex zapped him in the rear, and he howled as he lifted his head right into the chair seat, raising a lump on top of his head. Scooting on hands and knees, he tried to escape, but the instructor blocked his way with a solid wall that had appeared from nowhere.

Wand aimed lazily at the boy, he said, "Draco Malfoy is in no position to offer counsel on Dark Arts or defense from them. I suspect that if your father weren't in prison, he'd be teaching you this himself, wouldn't he, Vincent?"

"I guess so," Crabbe admitted.

"And he'd expect you to become good at it to protect yourself and your family, wouldn't he?" Snape pressed.

"Yes, sir," Crabbe said, shuddering a bit. Likely Dad would tan his hide if he acted for him the way he'd been acting with the professor, being a smart aleck, not trying very hard on the test or in class. His father had told him Snape was a very competent practitioner of the Dark Arts, as well as dueler, and given a choice of who to teach his son, he'd pick Snape. "Sorry for bein' a git."

"Are you ready to heed my advice and learn?" asked Severus calmly. He glanced at Gregory to include him in the question.

"Yes, sir," they answered in unison.

"Alright, prove it: Gregory, what is the difference between an animagus and a werewolf?" he challenged, pointing at Goyle.

"Like Professor McGonagall and Professor Lupin?" said Goyle.

Snape forced himself not to spotlight the fact that Lupin was no longer a professor. Best not to distract a boy with so little attention span. He could almost see the parts falling together in the youth's head; he was actually pleased that Gregory had made the connection. "Don't you dare say one is a witch and the other a wizard! And I'd better not hear the word 'cat', either!"

"I wasn't gonna," said Goyle, looking offended. "A animagus can transform whenever they want…" He scrunched up his face, thinking. "…and don't need the full moon like a werewolf."

"Correct. Vincent, what does the dementor's kiss really do?"

"Sucks out your soul," Crabbe replied softly, eyes downcast.

Severus nodded. "Correct. Now we're going to attempt the practical part of the test again, and this time when I say 'Block it', I don't mean stand there like a lump. I mean don't let it hit you. Some spells are potentially lethal; always assume the ones coming your way are. Deflect them with any spell that comes to mind. What is the best shield charm?"

"_Protego_," Goyle said, at almost the same time Crabbe produced a nonverbal _protego_ with his wand.

Impressed, Severus merely inclined his head and said, "Well done." He couldn't bring himself to offer lavish praise and throw out House points like candy, as the other teachers did when a student managed an acceptable response. Honestly, he found it annoying. Why reward them for knowing what they bloody well are supposed to know?

"Gregory, if I _stupefy_ Vincent, what spell can you use to awaken him?"

"You ain't gonna _stupefy_ me, are you?" cried Crabbe.

A single glare shut him up. Another glare turned Goyle's way got the answer of , "Uh, _unstupefy_?"

"Do you want me to cuff you? Is that what you're begging for?" Severus snapped, his waspish attitude almost replaced by a feeling of guilt when Goyle recoiled and cringed. The kid's father had been strict, and Severus imagined that during summer training he may have been very impatient. Severus could commiserate, knowing how that felt, waiting for his father to explode. Nonetheless, this was important and had to be learned. "It's _rennervate. _Learn it! Unless you'd like to learn the hard way." He stalked over to his spot for the dueling, raised his wand, and beckoned the boys over. "Watch my hands, the set of my face, movement in my legs, my eyes. They will tell when I am about to cast a spell, and you be ready. Now watch."

For their benefit he shot two spells over their heads, then a third by their feet.

"I saw it!" Crabbe crowed excitedly. "He wasn't talkin', but I knew when it was comin'."

"Me, too!" Goyle cried.

"Good. Wands up."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

All in all, it could have gone much worse, and it seemed the boys were finally taking these lessons seriously. Severus walked back to his desk after fifteen minutes of dueling with the two of them, himself unscathed, the both of them the worse for wear but wiser. "Next session I will be bringing a boggart, and I expect you both to be adept at the spell to rid yourself of it…and that spell would be?"

"_Riddikulus_!" they chanted together.

"Remember that _saying_ a spell and _casting_ one are not the same thing," Snape warned. It was easy enough to say the words, but without the practice and conviction behind it, it meant nothing. In the case of a boggart, where one's deepest fear is laid out for all to see, it could be difficult to repel it without the mental preparation…and these two weren't exactly mental champions. "Practice in your rooms. I'll know if you haven't."

He waved a hand and they both ran for the exit.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Slughorn tells me that Potter is proving to be as talented as his mother at Potions. I'd laugh, but it isn't worth the effort. That brat is up to something, he always is. As for emulating his mother, undoubtedly it never occurred to Slughorn that Lily was so talented because she had me helping her for five years! For crying out loud, she'd never so much as seen a cauldron before coming to Hogwarts! I learned at my mother's elbow, and she was a superlative Potions student; I followed in her steps, and Lily benefitted from my experience, from my teaching her shortcuts, and my own experiments at creating better techniques...but then, Slughorn isn't one to notice things like that, is he? Very narrow focus, unless it fits into his plan of which students to suck up to. I digress. Nevertheless, it does give me pause, makes me wonder where the little monster is coming up with his newfound 'skill'._

_ Crabbe was jinxed in the hallway, causing his toenails to grow suddenly very long, and he fell and sprained his wrist. I know that spell—I freaking invented it! And I didn't make it public, which means someone has my old textbook, the one I keep—kept—in my storage closet in the Potions lab. Additionally, Filch has twice been attacked by one of these horrid little urchins with a tongue-lock hex that made his tongue cleave to the roof of his mouth. Also my spell. It has to be Potter, they and other hexes and curses I invented are written in there, which handily accounts for the 'incidents' going around school, as well as for the Brat Wonder's sudden ability to be adequate. How do I prove the whelp has got my book and is using it for foul purposes? So like his father, sneaking about and cursing people for fun in the hallways, without discipline or rebuke. Not that it would matter to Dumbledore what his cheeky favourite pupil does…maybe next time he'll lure someone to the Shrieking Shack and have a werewolf waiting for them._

_ The only spot of sunshine I see is that the brat thus far hasn't mastered nonverbal spells—is hopelessly incompetent, in fact. If only I can catch him using one of my spells, I'll throttle the brat where he stands._

_ Katie Bell has been injured by a cursed necklace she got in Hogsmeade, destined for "someone at Hogwarts". That really narrows it down. I was able to arrest the curse before it became irreparably damaging, though the poor girl is at St. Mungo's, probably for a long haul. In his typical need-no-proof style, Potter accused Draco of giving the necklace to Miss Bell. Sadly, I fear Draco may indeed be behind this as a lame attempt to get at Dumbledore. Surely he'd have to realize that Filch is scanning everyone and everything coming into the castle, it would not have got past him, and would have been confiscated, leading to an investigation. Is that what he's hoping for, to get caught? I know he doesn't want to kill Dumbledore or anyone else, despite the way he rages against Potter. _

_ At heart Draco is a good boy. I don't doubt he deliberately botched this clumsy attempt—assuming he is responsible—in order to avoid fulfilling his mission while appearing to be trying. When I confronted him, he firmly denied any involvement, but since he's been learning Occlumency I can't be sure he's telling the truth. He's up to something, though he refuses to tell me what it is. He claims I am trying to 'steal his glory'. The stupid child will get himself in over his head and I can't do a bloody thing about it. I detest how things have become between us._

_ As if all this weren't enough, Ron Weasley was poisoned by a mead in Slughorn's office…and the mead was meant for Dumbledore. Draco? I wonder if he's been confiding in his mother at all. Perhaps I should make a trip out there one of these days._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Hagrid loved the forest. If he could, he'd spend days at a time in there, but he was needed at Hogwarts…and, well, it wasn't really all that safe with the centaurs up in arms and all. Lots of stuff to be wary of. It was twilight, he was on his way back from one of his jaunts when, nearing the edge of the forest where he could peek through into the lawns ahead, he heard the sounds of arguing. That alone wouldn't have prevented him normally, not if it were students, but these weren't—it was Dumbledore and Snape. He halted, feeling awkward. Walking in on them seemed so rude, and eavesdropping wasn't any better. Maybe if he stayed quiet they'd go away and never know he was there. They seemed to be passing by. The voices were getting stronger.

"You refuse to tell me everything, yet you expect that _small_ _service_ of me! You take a great deal for granted, Dumbledore!" Snape hissed. "Perhaps I have changed my mind!"

"You gave me your word, Severus," said Albus pleasantly, if that entailed a firm order dressed up as a cordial reply. "And while we are talking about services you owe me, I thought you agreed to keep a close eye on our young Slytherin friend?"

The two walked off out of hearing range, still discussing heatedly, leaving Hagrid free to skulk out of the forest and scurry across the lawn as fast as he could lumber lest they see him.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_I am at a loss for words. Not literally, of course, but I am stricken. Dumbledore actually confided in me today, after our talk down by the forest, and what he had to say makes my blood run cold. He is certain that part of Voldemort's soul resides in Potter's spiky head, courtesy of the failed killing curse. That's why the brat can speak parseltongue, that's why he has some sort of link to the dark lord's mind. Albus has admitted that he is raising the boy to be slaughtered at the appropriate time by Voldemort in order to defeat the dark wizard once and for all. As much as I'd like to rejoice, it makes me sick to my stomach. All this time I've been protecting him, trying to teach him, and for what? To let him die? I hate Potter as much as the next person, but I don't want him dead!_

_ Despite the fact that I know what a manipulator Dumbledore is, I feel so sick, so used. I spied and lied for him all these years. How many times might I have been caught and tortured relentlessly before being murdered? And for what? So he could raise up a sacrificial lamb. I think I'm going to vomit. I hate him so much right now I can barely contain my fury. If he'd given the word to kill him now, I would have done it without a second thought. I hate my life._

(A/N: I checked, and the name of the spell has been officially changed by JKR from _ennervate_ to _rennervate_ as of 2004.)


	15. Book 6 Part 3

7

The Snape Chronicles—Book 6, Part 3

Snape floo'd into Malfoy Manor, into the main sitting room fireplace, and proceeded to brush the soot from his hair with distracted, futile swipes. An elf appeared and, seeing who it was, scuttled off to find the mistress of the house. While he waited for Narcissa, Snape prowled back and forth in front of the fireplace, beneath the portraits of Abraxas Malfoy and his lovely wife Thalia, who'd died when Lucius was a mere two years old. It had only been a couple of years since the patriarch himself had passed on, though the portrait had been painted of him as a man in his early forties. Severus found himself glancing up at it every few seconds. Apart from the short hair, Abraxas looked so like Lucius it made his stomach tighten.

"Is there something I can help you with, Severus?" asked Abraxas after a long stare at the other wizard. Despite the halfblood status, he'd come to see Snape as a son, after a fashion. Lucius had spent so much time with him when they were younger—well, there were a slew of reasons that didn't need rehashing at the moment.

All at once Severus stopped pacing. "I don't know, sir. I'm worried about Draco."

Abraxas nodded sagely, his wife beside him doing the same. "Narcissa is beside herself as well. If Lucius were here, he'd get to the bottom of it, but…" He trailed off. Lucius was in Azkaban, with no means of helping in any sense of the word.

"Yes, Lucius has a way with Draco," Severus found himself saying. Not always the best of ways, in his opinion, especially when that blasted cane entered the picture. Not to say Draco never deserved it, for surely he did, but it just reminded him too much of his own father's treatment of him when he was a boy. He sighed and sat down heavily in one of the stuffed armchairs. "He barely speaks to me anymore, Mr. Malfoy. I've tried to get him to confide in me, but he blames me for what happened to Lucius."

"What happened to Lucius was his own fault," stated Abraxas plainly, grey eyes unwavering. "That filthy Voldemort chose him to lead the raid at the Ministry, but he could have handled it better. For crying out loud, they were a dozen adult Death Eaters against a group of untrained children; surely they could have stunned the lot of them—"

"But the prophecy orb might have fallen and been destroyed," Thalia reminded him.

"Alright, they could have _immobilized_ the lot of them," Abraxas, patting her cheek lovingly. "Thus, they'd have remained standing in place, and the adults could have simply taken the stupid orb and left."

"Point taken," Thalia conceded. Then, as if remembering they were entertaining a guest, she turned to Severus. "I'm so sorry, Severus, this isn't helpful at all, is it?"

"Not particularly," he admitted, grinning despite himself. He loved to watch those two interact, it made his heart feel funny…in a good way. "I was hoping Narcissa might have some insight into Draco's actions at school. I should have surmised he'd withhold information from her as well."

"Severus, how lovely to see you!" cried Narcissa, hurrying across the room. "I was in the back garden taking a walk, Sisidy couldn't find me at first." She embraced Snape briefly as he rose to meet her, then she sat opposite him in the other chair. "What's going on?"

He shrugged his bony shoulders, even thinner than they'd been a year ago from all the extra frustration and anxiety over Draco. "Nothing, really. I've tried getting Draco to open up for me, but he won't. I'd hoped you had some luck on that front."

Narcissa grimaced. "No. He talks to Bella, not to me. And she fills his head with ideas of how glorious it is to have the dark lord's favour, and how Lucius will be so proud of him when he accomplishes his task." Tears started in her blue eyes. "Lucius would be so ashamed to see how our lives are falling apart."

"Yes, I imagine so," he agreed softly. He didn't like it when women cried, it made him uncomfortable, not knowing what to do or say. "Narcissa."  
She raised her head to look at him, tears already streaking down her cheeks.

"If I can trust you to repeat this to no one—and I mean no one, not Draco, not anyone—I may have something of interest." That was a massive understatement, but until he had her word, there was no point in raising her hopes.

"I won't repeat it, I swear," she said, leaning forward, her tears forgotten.

Severus glanced about the room out of habit to ascertain that they were alone. Bending in so close his nose almost touched hers, he whispered, "The dark lord is planning another escape from Azkaban." The shriek of glee from Narcissa nearly shattered his eardrum, and he had to forcibly pull her back into her chair. "You mustn't act like this! You know nothing, Narcissa! Nothing! And to be honest, I can't be certain Lucius will be freed, although I believe it is in the plan."

Despite his admonitions, she continued grinning like a simpleton.

"You must continue to act as though everything is the same. Until you hear word from Bella or from the dark lord himself, you don't know anything about this. If you don't receive word until the deed is done, you will feign ignorance until Lucius is in your arms. Is that clear?"

"Yes, yes!" she gushed, throwing herself at Snape and hugging him until he thought his ribs might burst.

He pried her off and thrust her back into her own chair. "The dark lord has not forbidden me to speak of it, but nor has he encouraged it. We can't be too careful."

"I understand." In the blink of an eye, her face went blank, and Severus almost laughed out loud. She'd been living with Lucius for a very long time, he was rubbing off on her!

"I should get back to school," he said at last. "If you hear anything from Draco, let me know."

"I will," she said. "Take care, Severus." She watched him leave, then relaxed into her chair. A hint of a smile started and she squashed it fiercely. No, she'd not let anyone know that she knew. If and when Lucius escaped, he'd find her waiting with open arms, but until then she'd rejoice only in the privacy of her own bedroom, where she was free to use her imagination to her heart's content.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ I visited Narcissa, but Draco has been as closemouthed with her as with me. How am I supposed to help him when he keeps disappearing and won't let me even be a part of his life anymore? I miss the days when he was a small child and I was one of his heroes. Now Auntie Bella has taken my place, that wretched, crazy bitch. I like to imagine I 'accidentally' kill her when we're battling someone else. It keeps my spirits up. I never realized how many ways I know to kill someone until I began picturing her as the target._

_Mundungus Fletcher has been sent to Azkaban; I say good riddance to the filthy, sneaking thief. Why he was ever allowed to be part of the __illustrious__ Order of the Phoenix is beyond me. Albus is convinced he was acting under the Imperius curse. Right. The scoundrel was impersonating an Inferius for his own gain, the same reason he does every other thing in his slimy life. Along the same lines, arrogant, insolent Potter came late to class and delivered his juvenile, worthless interpretation of how to spot a ghost versus an Inferius. I'm surprised he didn't say they'd look like Fletcher._

_ Albus seems smugly satisfied, so I assume something has gone his way. After telling me of his suspicions concerning Voldemort's horcruxes and of Potter's coming fate, he's reverted to his old secretive coot of a self. I suppose he regrets giving me the information he did, but he was afraid I'd renege on my promise to murder him. How sick does that sound—my promise to murder him? Makes me sound like a maniac. Oh, sure, I've had "Kill Dumbledore" on my To-Do List since long before Potter ever arrived at Hogwarts, though now that the ancient bastard has given me my wish on a silver platter, it's not the same. It somehow isn't satisfying if he __wants__ me to do it—nay, __forces__ me to do it._

_ Getting back to the point, Dumbledore is the maniac, sending a boy to his certain death. Despite the fact that Potter has an uncanny ability to wiggle out of tight spots, we can't expect his luck to hold forever. Apparently he's intended to blithely offer himself up to the dark lord to be exterminated. That will be the day! _

_ Speaking of the brat and his 'self-sacrifice' that doesn't exist, he nearly killed Draco with __Sectumsempra__. The fool used a spell he neither knew nor understood—how like his arsehole of a father—and had I not intervened immediately, Draco would be dead. Turning him in to Dumbledore would be as futile as expecting Sirius Black to have been punished for almost getting me eaten or mauled by his werewolf buddy. And so the little monster goes free to wreak havoc at will because he's a f—king Gryffindor, the Choooooooosen One._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Hard at work at his desk even close to midnight, striking through ludicrous essays with his red-tipped quill which left slashes so like blood it was almost scary to look at the completed paper after grading, Severus perked up his ears. Unless he'd become suddenly senile, he heard the patter of footsteps coming down the hall, and his brow furrowed. It sounded like a small child, even younger than the eleven-year-olds when they first arrived at the beginning of the year. That didn't bode well. Things that didn't seem to fit never boded well, life had taught him that lesson. And the accompanying shouting—everyone knew not to shout in his dungeons if they wished to retain vocal cords—that couldn't be good either. What was the voice saying?

Snape got up and rounded the desk just as Flitwick threw open the door without the courtesy of knocking, panting and wild-eyed, and shouted in a hoarse croak, "Death Eaters in the castle!"

"Filius, calm down!" Severus barked, his own eyes growing sharp and deadly. "What is going on?"

"Death Eaters in the castle!" Flitwick repeated, looking desperate. "Minerva said to fetch you, you need to come back with me and help fight them off! It looks like they're headed toward the Astronomy Tower."

Before the tiny Charms professor saw it coming, Snape had his wand out, and a silent _stupefy_ sent him sailing across the room, where he struck a table and fell to the floor with a loud thump. Not wishing to dawdle when every second counted, he dashed from the room, only to halt momentarily when he saw Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood loitering outside. With no time to consider WHY a Gryffindor and a Ravenclaw had taken it upon themselves to stalk the dungeons, but insightful enough to grasp that they had to have heard Flitwick's panicked shouts, he said in his well-practiced deceitful tone, "Professor Flitwick has collapsed. Tend to him while I go fight the Death Eaters." And then he raced away.

Taking the marble stairs two at a time, Severus ran toward the fray that he now heard dimly in the back of his mind, past the swirling thoughts. Death Eaters in the castle could only mean Draco had managed somehow to let them in. All the enchantments and security measures would have prevented them entering of their own accord. That meant he had precious little time if he were to save Draco from the terrible fate of murder or being murdered.

As he rounded a corner into another corridor, he saw flashes of light ahead, heard shouts and cries and shattering of plaster and stone. He ran in, heedless of who saw him—after all, both sides believed him to be working for them—and looked frantically about for Draco, who was nowhere to be seen. Perhaps he'd made it to the tower already. Intent on reaching the tower, dodging curses thrown randomly and wildly by that enormous idiot Thorfinn Rowle, he hurried past the Order members and a few students putting up a miserable defense. Breezing through a magical blockage accessible only to those with the Dark Mark, he felt the tingle of it on his skin, a prickling sensation that set his hair on end. At least no one could be following him now, he had a little time…maybe. Already out of wind, he forced himself to climb the stairs; he was almost there, he couldn't stop now.

He thrust open the door and barged in, wand in hand, as the Carrow shrew was screeching something at Draco. Her voice cut off abruptly, and Snape stood there taking in the scene at a glance. Dumbledore was still alive, he could be grateful Draco hadn't done it yet, though from the looks of it he was being pressed by the others into action.

"We've got a problem, Snape," said Amycus Carrow, gesturing at Draco. "The boy doesn't seem able—"

And then Dumbledore spoke for the first time, in a tone Severus wasn't used to hearing. "Severus," he said, so weakly it barely registered.

Yes, he did appear feeble, supporting himself on the wall. What the bloody hell had he done? Surely none of these gathered here could have reduced him to this! And then Severus realized with a sudden bolt of fury what must have happened: Albus had left the castle, he'd increased security while gone…Bloody f—king hell, that old goat had gone and found another horcrux and, being the obstinate coot he was, had tried to disable it on his own—AGAIN—and it had backfired—AGAIN!

That alone riled Severus, who'd had enough of stupidity and selfishness and secrecy. If he were hunting horcruxes, why in the name of all that was holy did he not take the very person capable of destroying the damned thing? And now, instead of apologizing for being a stubborn old twat, Dumbledore was calling forth the pledge he'd coerced from his underling to murder him!

Severus took a few steps forward toward Albus, staring at him with utter loathing. This was all his doing. If only he'd been honest and forthright with those around him, things might have been so different, but nooooo, he had to have it his way, and look what it got him. Look what it got everyone who was close to him, everyone who cared about him, who worked for him, who did his bidding…

"Severus…please…"

It was now or never. Allowing his hatred at Dumbledore and everyone connected to this whole disgusting war to build to fever pitch, Severus raised his wand, pointed it at Dumbledore's chest, and uttered, "_Avada kedavra!_"

Dumbledore's lifeless body flew into the air, seeming to hang for a second beneath the Dark Mark posted in the sky, before tumbling back over the battlements into the black of night.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ It's official, I'm on the run from the law. Not that it's a big deal, I suppose, since the Death Eaters are in the process of taking over the Ministry. They applaud me for my work._

_When Albus pleaded with me to kill him on the tower, I had no choice. Not only had I promised to do so, I couldn't let Draco be coerced by the Carrows and Greyback into destroying his life in that manner. Bringing to mind all of Dumbledore's manipulations and failings regarding my welfare all these years, all the repressed anger and hatred I've felt for him, it really wasn't hard to muster the ability to murder him with a painless __a.k.__ Even when it was over, it didn't feel over. I knew it wouldn't. Until the dark lord is gone for good, it will never be over._

_ As if that weren't enough, that Potter puke had the audacity to try attacking me with my own spells! If I'd had the time, I'd have taught the brat a lesson he'd never forget. I truly despise him._

_ I hate my life with every spark of my being, and with every passing day I hate it a bit more. Is that even possible?_


	16. Summer after Book 6

12

The Snape Chronicles—Summer after Book 6

_ Snape gazed down at the Boy-Who-Wouldn't-Live-Beyond-Tonight-If-He-Had-Anything-To-Say-About-It, moaning and trying to push himself up off the ground from the powerful __stupefy__ that had knocked him on his arse. His lips quirked upward into a cruel smile. In the back of his mind, he thought this must be how the dark lord felt when he was about to torture and eradicate his prey. It was an amazingly thrilling sensation. Vaguely he wondered why he didn't do things like this all the time; there were so many who could use proper justice._

_ "So, Potter, you were saying?" he taunted, bending down a bit. "How dare you try to use my own curses against me, you little fool." In the background he felt the heat of the fire from Hagrid's burning hut. It was annoying, and he was sweating. He hated to sweat. That's why he spent most of his time in the dungeons, for crying out loud._

_ "You killed Dumbledore!" screamed Harry, searching about for the wand that was already secured in Severus' pocket._

_ "My, my, and I thought you a witless dunderhead," Snape crooned. "You deduced this all by yourself? Or perhaps you saw it happen, in which case I retract my previous statement about you not being a completely brainless moron." He twirled his wand in his fingers as he began to circle Harry. Suddenly he shot a spell that bound his hands and feet with invisible ropes. "Can't have you wandering off before I'm done with you. We have so much to catch up on."_

_Struggling against the ropes, Harry muttered something that sounded eerily like a muggle curse. "Let me go! The Order members will be looking for you, Dumbledore will—" He cut off sharply with a sob._

_ "Dumbledore will what?" cooed Snape, tilting his head to the side and smiling…it made him feel like Bellatrix, and he immediately stopped both the tilting and the smiling. His obsidian eyes darkened, if possible, and bored so hard into Potter's green orbs that the boy looked away in terror. Ah, that was better. . "It's time you realize that the world does not revolve around you, Potter. I no longer have to tolerate your insolence nor your midnight mischief. All I want from you is a bit of satisfaction."_

_ Ah, there was the terror again, mixed with a smidge of horror. "What are you planning to do to me, you wanker?" Even fearing for his life, the monster hadn't the ability to hold his tongue._

_ Severus sighed and began circling the boy again. "In case you haven't noticed—and being the self-centered, exasperating, injudicious prat that you are, that is an express possibility—you are at my mercy. Did it never occur to you to treat me with respect when I hold your pitiful life in my hands?" His wand rolled round his fingers like a baton with a drum majorette. "Wanker. What a delightful word…so like something your father might have uttered. While you, having been raised by loathsome muggles, have a meager defense for your lack of manners, your filthy father had no such excuse. That notwithstanding, perhaps I've decided to no longer __be__ a wanker. Perhaps I'd like to sate my lust on you, Potter!"_

_ The very thought of defiling himself with the brat was too much, and he turned away just in time to vomit in the grass behind him. When his stomach could churn out no more, he wiped his mouth and turned back, embarrassed and angry. "Look what you made me do! Obviously that very notion is too disgusting to entertain. But speaking of entertainment…"_

_ "Let me go, Snape!" Harry struggled violently, kicking his bound legs and thrashing._

_ Severus wasn't listening. He no longer heard the crackle of fire, and his core temperature had reduced to fairly comfortable. A tad chilly, even…and damp. The wind had picked up. "Get up. We're going to finish our duel, and then I will kill you as you have so richly deserved for the past six years." He waved his wand and the invisible ropes disappeared._

_ Harry stared for a second, then got to a crawling position. A moment later he bolted, but Snape was too quick. A flick of his wand brought the youth whirling back to stand in front of the Potions master. "I see your point, Potter. There is no way you can win in a duel with me, it would hardly be sporting. I mean, a muggle would stand as much chance as you do." A sneer curled his lip._

_ "I'll kill you, Snape, I swear it!" screamed Harry, even as he threw himself at the man. Severus merely stepped aside and tripped him. Potter sprawled on his face in the dirt, his glasses askew on the bridge of his nose._

_ "I think not. In fact, it's time for you to be my puppet. For more years than I'm sure you're capable of counting, I've been Dumbledore's puppet, protecting you despite your insatiable death wish. It's time you see how it feels." His wand lifted and Harry was on his feet, his clothing changed in an instant. _

_ Harry looked down at himself, shocked and a little bit pleased with the outfit—a floor length, very full multi-coloured dress, complete with frills and a lacy blouse. Black, heeled shoes and artificial flowers on his head completed the ensemble. "What's this?"_

_ "Dance," Snape ordered. From nowhere, Mexican folkloric music had begun to play._

_ For once in the whole time Snape had known him, Potter obeyed without comment. Holding tight to the skirt, he extended his arms to their full length, the pink part of the skirt now resembling a huge slice of watermelon. His feet clicked to the beat, his hands whipping the skirt right and left like a pro, turning, whirling, and prancing, smiling, flirting with his eyes—_

Severus awoke with a start and slapped off the alarm clock at Spinner's End. He found himself lying on his bare sheet, which was puddled with sweat; the blanket lay on the floor where he'd kicked it. A light breeze from his open window made him shiver. Cautiously he glanced about the room, ascertaining that he was, indeed, alone.

He let out a huge sigh of relief as he muttered, "Merlin's ghost, what a nightmare. I can't even kill the brat properly in my dreams! And I have got to change that alarm tune."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

**July 1997**

Even in July the waters surrounding the tiny island housing Azkaban were frigid and choppy. Despite the freezing evening wind that blew her hair like a mad top, and the waves that threatened to swallow the miniature crafts, Bella looked steadfastly and unflinchingly forward as if she could truly see more than ten feet ahead in the fading light, every so often shrieking at her cohorts to pipe down their bitching. Last breakout, in January of 1996, she'd been freed; this time she was the boss, and she wasn't about to have dissention in her ranks. Once she successfully fulfilled the master's command, he'd forgive her completely for the Ministry fiasco and love her again. Her heart leapt into her mouth: not _love_, never love. But he'd forgive her.

She shook her head, forcing herself to keep her mind on the task. _Must not allow such silly thoughts, must rescue our comrades to make the master proud._ She glanced sidelong at Yaxley, who was conveniently located next to her in another canoe-like boat, magically and Selwyn had been two of the Death Eaters who'd come to free her a year and a half ago, so at least they had an idea what they were up against, but she'd _lived_ there…no one could top that.

"Azkaban is nothing compared to when I was there," she snarled at Yaxley, "There's no dementors now to drive people crazy."

She was right in one thing, there were no dementors this time around. As for driving one crazy…well, Yaxley surmised something had driven Bella over the edge long before she arrived in prison. He'd led the escape last time around, and hoped he'd be given the honour this time, though he knew better; Bella was the dark lord's pet, naturally she'd be chosen. Best suck it up and make nice or she'd blast him into the water for the fish to feed on. She was so sentimental that way…

In the boat behind them was Milton Avery, shuddering violently from the cold. Had his son not been imprisoned, he'd have tried to beg off this assignment. Selwyn was talking in a low voice to him, which the wind carried off before Bella heard. The two remaining boats carried Thorfinne Rowle and Amycus Carrow, who tried unsuccessfully to engage his companion in conversation. Having given up twenty minutes ago, he sulkily stared out at the waves lapping at the boat as they drew ever nearer the prison. The half hour ride seemed interminable; were it not for the anti-apparition barriers surrounding the island and extending almost to the mainland coast, they'd have simply apparated over. Then again, if it were so easy, the convicts of Azkaban could apparate _out_.

Yaxley cleared his throat. They'd discussed their strategy at length, and though he recognized Bella's strength in dueling, he wasn't entirely sure she fully appreciated how difficult it might to be with human guards rather than dementors, which had fled on the dark lord's command last time. Then again, she had no trouble with murder and mayhem…perhaps it wouldn't be such a problem after all. He'd know very soon.

Wands drawn and placed inconspicuously beneath their robes, the Death Eaters approached the wooden dock, where two aurors were walking out to meet them. One of the aurors, wand drawn, began to say, "We weren't informed of any new prisoners or orders to remove—"

It was as far as he got before Bellatrix _avada kedavra_'d him. Simultaneously, Yaxley cut down the other, his wand pointing upward from beside his leg. The Death Eaters quickly tethered the boats and crawled out onto the dock. Wands at ready, they approached the gate; all together they aimed and shot a spell that blew the thick metal gate off its hinges. It creaked, wobbled, and toppled backward with a thunderous crash. The wizards and witch marched over top of it, into the heart of Azkaban. For a fleeting moment of triumph, Bella stood glaring about her in the meager courtyard, a victorious smile on her face.

"Places!" she shouted, and the others immediately fanned out to the locations planned for them.

They were summarily confronted by a small cadre of aurors who'd come running at the blast, but the Death Eaters had already taken cover. Two more aurors were cursed before the rest had a chance to bolt for defensive positions themselves. While Selwyn, Avery, Carrow, and Rowle dueled from behind stone columns near the door, Bella and Yaxley—who'd taken up position in tiny alcoves across the courtyard, behind the incoming men—waited till they were sure no more were forthcoming, then opened fire. In an ambush-turned-massacre, the aurors fell one after another, not entirely sure where the curses were coming from, unable to fight both fronts at once. In a matter of minutes it was over.

"Stay on guard in case there are more aurors on the different levels," Yaxley warned, dodging Bella's withering scowl.

"I was going to say that," she said through clenched teeth. "Divide into pairs and go. Meet back here. If you encounter resistance, shoot a spark into the air."

As they had done last escape, the Death Eaters split up to search the levels. Because they had no way of knowing where their companions were being held, they'd have to check the place cell by cell. Each of them walked along a lengthy row of stone cells with bars on the front, all facing the corridor in order to discourage conversation or human contact of any kind, peering at each inmate; with their hair long and tangled, their beards matted, they all rather looked alike. As they recognized a comrade, they unlocked the door and urged the man to meet them at the front gate, then continued on, ignoring the deafening pleas of the other inmates.

Within minutes, a group of fourteen convicts huddled together with their rescuers, all talking animatedly at once. Several of these men had gone through this once before, they knew what came next.

"Let's get our wands!" Rodolphus shouted, echoed by his brother and Dolohov. All wands were stowed in an office on the first level, spelled so only the original owner could pick them up.

So saying, he stalked past the wing of cells to a blue metal door, which was open. Apparently the aurors had come out of here when they heard the blast. On the lone table, a card game had been in progress. Inside the surprisingly spacious room, on the wall opposite a desk loaded with stacks of files, hung a massive cabinet with a glass front; inside were hundreds of wands, lined up end to end, one right under another—testimony to the number of inmates who had died while incarcerated here, and hence had never retrieved them.

Bella shattered the glass with a hex, and the escapees stepped eagerly forward to examine the wands, to locate their own. Lucius, one of the first to claim his wand, watched the proceedings with anxiety, wishing to be gone before reinforcements arrived. Once the last man had recovered his wand, the entire group proceeded to the boats, which held only four people apiece. As they moved, Bella explained the plan: at the designated moment, when they cleared the wards, they were to apparate to the dark lord at the castle headquarters and show their appreciation for being set at liberty. The master would tell them if there was anything else.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

In the old Scottish castle, headquarters to Lord Voldemort since leaving his family manor some months back, the dark lord sat on his throne, enjoying the parade of men streaming by, crowding in to offer him gratitude for their freedom. While their profuse bootlicking made him all warm and fuzzy inside, he could do without that godawful stench that permeated every inmate of the prison, and found himself waving them away. Around the room stood those few Death Eaters who'd not been imprisoned, including Snape, who'd not been sent on this mission because frankly he was too useful to lose at the moment. An overturned boat, a stray curse or lucky shot by an auror, and his source of information would dry up quickly. Voldemort raised a hand and every voice silenced.

"My friends, my soldiers, you are free."

A whoop of pure glee rang forth, taken up by most of the rest of the liberated wizards. Voldemort held up his hand again, and silence fell like a heavy curtain.

"You rightly offer me acclaim for restoring your liberty, although these your comrades carried out the orders that led to it." A magnanimous swoop of his hand gestured to the rest of the Death Eaters. "I have good news for you on top of this glorious day: Albus Dumbledore is dead!" His thin lips quirked upward into a frightening smile.

At first there was a strange, confused hush. Had they heard aright?

Voldemort's thin, white hand pointed to the corner near him where Snape stood like a statue. "And our friend Severus killed him. Let us celebrate tonight not only your emancipation, but the new era. We shall take over the Ministry and Hogwarts, and very soon we shall rule the Magical world."

The applause and shouts—often croaks from voices little used to speech for almost a year—rang through the cavern beneath the castle. Bella waited for the master to get to the part where she had led the raid freeing them, that they owed her a debt of gratitude as well, that she was his right hand now and forever…but it never came. Oh, it was all well and good to praise the halfbreed, but not the pureblood who served him with her very life? Her brow dipped and she hissed softly in Snape's direction.

"I am sure all of you have places you'd like to be, family or loved ones you'd like to become reacquainted with. Go, get cleaned up. Tomorrow morning I shall take up residence in a new headquarters—Malfoy Manor." Every eye suddenly turned to Lucius, who gaped stupidly. The dark lord went on, "I will be casting spells to prevent anyone without the Dark Mark from entering the property unless invited in or dragged in—" A few guffaws rang out. "Tomorrow, anyone who hasn't got a secure place to hide from the aurors can meet there. I'm sure Lucius will be only too happy to provide accommodations."

"Of—of course, my lord," Lucius stammered, stunned by this turn of events. The last thing he wanted was to bring into his home the dark lord and a bunch of Death Eaters!

"Good. Go enjoy your freedom." When Voldemort got up to leave, Bellatrix followed him sullenly from the room. A thought struck her, and her frown turned to a wicked smile. Perhaps if she pleased him tonight, he'd feel more generous toward her. It couldn't hurt to try, right? Pursing her lips, she picked up the pace.

As soon as the dark lord had gone, the wizards moved for the exit. All but Severus, who shoved his way through the putrid throng to Lucius, grabbed his arm, and pulled him away from the others. Though his features remained blank, the horror registering in his gut made him want to vomit, and not only from the heinous odor. Lucius' skin looked an odd, waxy yellow, his hair not only uncombed, but matted. A heavy growth of hair like a blond bush despoiled the aristocratic, haughty face. Dark circles hung under his eyes, and he appeared to have lost far too much weight; it seemed a strong wind might blow the fellow away. As if all this weren't bad enough, the expression of fear, of despair embedded in Lucius' eyes made Severus avert his own eyes.

"Lucius, come with me," he said in a tone much stronger than he felt.

Without a word of dissent—which was yet another knife in Snape's already pained gut—Malfoy followed him outside. That wasn't right, it wasn't…Lucius. He never followed like a sheep, he always wanted to be the one giving orders.

Already most of the Death Eaters had apparated off to wherever they were going, while a few had remained in the castle ruins to use the washing facilities Voldemort had crafted there; they had no family, no one to go see, no one who missed them. Severus led Lucius out to a cliff not far from the castle, then stopped. No one would hear them talking here, not with the sound of waves crashing on the rocks below, and no one would see them in the dark.

"Lucius, I'm glad you're back," he began. "I've been keeping an eye on Narcissa and Draco, they're fine, don't worry about that—"

He hadn't time to say more. Lucius flung himself forward, embracing the wizard and burying his face in his shoulder, holding so tightly Severus gasped a little. Before Severus knew what was happening, he felt a convulsive shaking against him that he recognized all too well from when he'd been a child. Despite straining to control himself, Lucius was sobbing against him, and Snape hadn't the heart to push him off. Not to mention he'd never seen the adult Lucius cry, and it unnerved him, shook him to his core. Malfoy was a master at controlling his emotions…what evil had befallen him at that wretched place to cause this?

After a few minutes Lucius pulled himself together and stepped back, head lowered in shame, swiping his sleeve over his eyes. "I'm…I'm sorry, Severus. I've been holding that in for a very long time. Please don't think badly of me." His voice sounded harsh, rasping, as if barely used anymore.

"I don't," said Severus honestly. "Are you alright? What happened to you?"

Wagging his head, Lucius turned away so Snape could barely hear his reply. "It's horrible. It's cold, so cold all the time. There are no beds, only straw mats on the cold, stone floor. There is never much to eat, and I wouldn't feed that swill to a house elf. You hearing screaming in the night from the younger ones, the ones who are…desirable…to the perverts in charge of that filth hole." He spat on the ground in disgust, then hugged himself with his arms as he hunched there in the dark. "They hex us at will, and laugh as we writhe under their curses. But the worst is the taunting. They come around daily to torment us, to mock us. They told me—the aurors told me that Draco was dead, that Narcissa is divorcing me." His voice broke when he spoke of Draco, yet he forced himself to go on. "I didn't know for sure if it was true until now, until you told me they're alright. I can't trust Bella to tell the truth. I didn't want to believe them, I knew they wanted to torture me…" He let himself trail off, wiping at new tears trailing down his cheeks. He'd rather not speak of it anymore.

"Narcissa loves you with all her heart, as she always has," Snape assured him, stepping closer and draping a cloak he'd conjured around his shoulders. "Draco is doing fine. I'll take you to the manor if you like."

"I can apparate myself, I'm not an invalid," Lucius said, with a hint of his old drawl. He glanced down at the prison uniform. Should he even bother to transfigure it? The sight and smell of him would likely knock his wife unconscious anyway. He turned to face the other wizard, grey eyes pleading silently, voice scarcely a whisper. "I don't want her to see me like this."

"I understand," Severus murmured. "Come to Spinner's End, burn those clothes, get a hot bath, shave—I'll have Wormtail make you some supper, and then you can go to Narcissa."

Lucius nodded, still overwhelmed by the whole experience. "Thank you."

"What are best friends for?" asked Severus. He watched as Lucius disappeared, then followed suit to Spinner's End. For some reason he really felt like being mean to the rat.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Lucius apparated onto his front porch and stood there for a good long while, turning to look at his home, his grounds, his orchard. Tomorrow it would all be defiled by the dark lord and his 'filthy little band of miscreants', as his father would have said. He'd have to let Narcissa know they were coming, but not tonight…let her be happy for one night that her family was intact once more.

Brushing off imaginary bits of lint, he straightened his back and swung open the door. The foyer looked so large, so majestic after having lived in a tiny cage for nearly a year. He'd never really appreciated how lovely his house was, all the little touches Narcissa put into it to make it wonderful for him. He walked down the hall, passing by portraits welcoming him home, his gaze observing everything he'd never bothered to notice when he took it for granted. He paused in front of the drawing room.

"Sisidy," he said softly.

The house elf popped in, and seeing her master alive and well in front of her, she let out an exclamation of joy and leapt at his leg, where she clung like a burr, rubbing her face against his pantleg. Lucius stroked her head fondly. He'd known this elf all his life, she'd help raise him, she'd loved him dearly, unlike that hideous mischief maker, Dobby. No, he mustn't allow himself bad memories now. He gave her a few minutes to enjoy his company before he spoke.

"Where is Mistress Narcissa?"

"In Mistress' room, Master Malfoy," Sisidy squeaked, her face buried in his trouser leg.

"Fetch her for me. Tell her—don't tell her anything, just fetch her."

Sisidy reluctantly let go and disappeared. Moments later she appeared with Narcissa in tow, her scrawny hand clutching Narcissa's night dress. The witch jerked her clothing away from the elf indignantly. "Sisidy, what is the meaning—"

And then she saw Lucius standing there, his eyes hungrily taking her in, like a starving man longing for a loaf of bread. She inhaled with a light gasp, her eyes flying open wide, and suddenly she sprinted across the room into his open arms, nearly knocking him over with the strength of her attack. Her arms wrapped tightly about his neck, her face against his chest, his arms clinging to her for dear life. Neither spoke over the lumps in their throats choking them. When she could hold it in no longer, Narcissa let the barrier break and the tears poured down her cheeks, soaking into his shirt, heart wrenching sobs of elation and relief mixed with months of despair and yearning.

Lucius kissed the top of her head, her cheeks, and finally her lips in a frenzied need for her touch, her warmth, her love. She returned his passion with her own, kissing every inch of his almost-gaunt face and neck, running her hands feverishly through the hair that used to gleam, and now seemed so lackluster and brittle. When at last she paused to take a breath, her hand brushed over the black robes, and she paused.

"These aren't yours," she said in slight confusion, examining them more closely. "They look like the kind Severus wears."

"I borrowed them," Lucius said, trying to make his voice less raspy and not quite succeeding. "He let me…they're his."

Immediately she understood. When Bella had come home before, she and the rest of the lot had been filthy, odor-ridden, bearded in the case of the men. Lucius had wanted to spare her seeing that, and while she'd have taken it in stride because she adored him no matter what he wore or how he looked, she appreciated his thoughtfulness. He must have cleaned up at Severus' house and borrowed fresh robes…robes that fit Severus, who was so thin. And these now fit her husband, because he'd lost so much weight. More tears slid down her cheeks, but she simply clung all the harder to him.

"Shall I call Draco, my love? He'll want to see his father."

"Yes. I've missed him so," Lucius answered, nodding though she couldn't see it, and blinking back tears of his own. "I've missed you both so much."

"I know," she replied in a whisper. "I know." It was all she could say without breaking down again. She ought to let Lucius have a happy homecoming. Tomorrow they could discuss the past; right now she wanted to revel in his presence.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Lucius is back. To be more precise, fourteen Death Eaters have been broken out of Azkaban; I don't much care about the rest of them. He looks appallingly thin, sickly…I'm sure Dr. Livingston will be one of the first people to get a call. Then again, it might not be prudent for him to know, with his reputation and all. Perhaps they will summon Dr. Frank Cullin, an old friend of Abraxas Malfoy. He's been retired for years, but would come to help the son of Abraxas, I believe._

_ Lord Voldemort plans to move his headquarters to Malfoy Manor tomorrow. I don't envy the Malfoys one bit. Now that the full strength of the dark lord's forces can be mustered, I fear for the magical world. He's insane, bent on mad enterprises. If he manages to off Potter this time around, will he be unstoppable? Must it be Potter who kills him, just because a damned self-fulfilling prophecy says so? If only I knew what and where the rest of the horcruxes were, I might be of help…I loathe this waiting for the end, knowing what a horror it will be if it comes to pass in the wrong way. And still I serve the maniac because I don't know how else to finish this once and for all. I saw desperation in Lucius' eyes earlier today, and I must confess I have come to share it. I hate my life._


	17. Book 7 Part 1

8

The Snape Chronicles—Book 7, Part 1

**July 1997**

"What. Is. That?" Snape lowered his book and stood up from the couch at Spinner's End as Peter closed the door to the staircase. His long finger pointed at Pettigrew, his face set in a glower.

Peter looked down at himself, nervously brushing down his black robes that looked suspiciously like Severus' dueling robes, only with Peter inside they more resembled a short pork sausage stuffed into a black candy wrapper. Peter shrugged nonchalantly and mumbled, "I'm getting ready for the meeting."

"Are those my robes?" asked Severus caustically.

At first the other man didn't answer, then he squeaked defiantly, "I didn't have anything nice!"

Snape took a long, deep breath, his face growing red, then turning white with rage. "Take them off. Now!"

Without waiting for the rat man to comply, he aimed his wand, flicked it violently, and the clothing yanked themselves off Peter's body, leaving him in his skivvies. He shrieked and covered himself with his hands. Severus let the garments land on the floor, stared at them with disgust, then shot an _incendio_ to incinerate them.

Glancing back at Pettigrew, he snarled, "I couldn't bear to wear them now." He'd frankly prefer to char them than to ever wear them again after they'd touched Peter's body. And no way was he going to gift them to that sniveling, sneaking little puke!

"What am I supposed to do?" squawked Peter, opening the door to upstairs and scampering onto the first step.

"You're not going to the meeting," said Severus evenly. "You weren't invited."

"I'm a Death Eater, same as you!" protested Pettigrew.

Snape snorted loudly. "Hardly in my league. As I noted, you weren't invited. If you show up, the dark lord will likely punish you—but by all means, do as you see fit." Sneering, he sat down and picked up his book, unable to read now. The meeting was in an hour, he needed time to mentally prepare. He slammed the book onto the sofa, got up, and went into his room.

Precisely forty minutes later he emerged from his room to find Peter on the sofa staring at the television, which wasn't on. To his relief, the rat had managed to find some clothing of his own to put on. "Don't sulk, I have a job for you." He gestured toward the kitchen. "I left my laundry in there, as usual. When I get back I expect it done—and make sure to get my underwear nice and white. And don't fade my robes! They're less intimidating when they look like muddy water."

"I'm not your washer woman," Peter growled, though he got up and slumped toward the kitchen. Apparently killing Dumbledore had accomplished something: Pettigrew obeyed without his typical reluctance and hostility. That was something. Given the circumstances, it was the best he could hope for.

Peter shuffled off, his shoes dragging loudly on the hardwood floors, muttering something undoubtedly uncomplimentary. In that instant he stopped cold, grabbing his left forearm and grimacing, whilst simultaneously smiling in a gloating manner. "It's burning! The master is calling me! See, he wants me there!" He sprinted to the back door, wrenched it open, and skipped outside to apparate, not even bothering to close it behind him.

Swearing softly, Severus stomped over and slammed the door shut. No need to let in the bugs to party with the rat. Sitting down at the rickety, stained kitchen table, he closed his eyes to go over in his mind one more time exactly what he was to say tonight—and to carefully tuck away any information he'd prefer the dark lord not find in his mind if he chose to utilize Legilimency on him, as Voldemort was wont to do to his followers.

He arrived in the lane leading to Malfoy Manor at the same time as Yaxley. The men greeted each other and made chitchat as they walked, lifting their branded arms to walk right through the wrought iron gates. He had to admit, the dark lord knew some pretty impressive spells. If Lord Voldemort weren't such an egomaniacal shit, he might dare ask the older wizard to teach him.

As he entered the drawing room, seeing the furniture shoved up against the walls, he thought for a brief second what Abraxas Malfoy would have to say about it if he were still alive—throngs of Death Eaters invading his home, manhandling his family and his property. Severus allowed a tiny grin at the notion of the elder Malfoy wiping the floor with some of these Death Eaters, then cringed to think of him dueling the dark lord. Glancing up, he saw the figure of a woman revolving slowly above the table. Sadness enveloped him, but he strode over to sit beside Lord Voldemort with a blank countenance.

Once he'd divulged his own information about Potter's upcoming escape from Privet Drive, and received his due accolades to the daggers shooting from Yaxley's eyes, he sat back to listen to the rest of the meeting. His gaze strayed to Lucius, who looked only slightly better than he had a few days ago. His skin was still yellowed and waxy; it would take time to gain back the weight he'd lost, along with remedying the malnutrition factor. His voice was hoarse when he spoke to the dark lord, whether from residual illness or fear, Severus couldn't tell.

Along with everyone else, Snape gasped at the dark lord's demand that someone give up their wand to him, and when Voldemort's snakelike eyes locked on Malfoy, Severus shrunk inside. Already Lucius seemed broken beyond anything Severus had ever imagined possible for the stuffy pureblood he counted as his best friend in the world. He had been imprisoned for a year, he was in less-than-optimal health, he was basically under house arrest, his home was being used as a Death Eater hotel, his family was being terrorized by Voldemort, Ollivander was held captive in his cellar, and now he was to lose his wand. Hadn't he been through enough? No, of course he hadn't. Not until someone groveled at Voldemort's feet, imploring his mercy and offering something of extreme value to Lord Voldemort would they ever be even vaguely forgiven by the oh-so-gracious master. Sure enough, the dark lord confiscated Lucius' wand to the cackles and mocking of the others.

And then he heard it, a faint hissing that grew louder. He froze. His heart leapt when he felt something stroke his ankle under the table, and he unconsciously recoiled. When an enormous snake hoisted itself up onto Voldemort's chair, swirling round the legs and back, he barely stopped himself from leaping backward out of his chair. The snake came to rest on Voldemort's shoulders, and he petted it absently. Severus mutinously considered how the evil wizard nursed sentiment for a snake, but not for humans, including the one still suspended over the table.

He sat back silently, observing the Death Eaters mock the Malfoys and Blacks as Voldemort egged them on. It made him sick and angry, yet even so not a trace showed on his face. When the dark lord turned to him to ask about the woman revolving over the table, calling his name and begging for help, he did his utmost, gleaned from years of deceitfulness, to appear casually indifferent. It apparently succeeded, and if it weren't for the fact that he had a mission to accomplish, he'd think himself the most despicable of men. He watched his colleague murdered, then eaten by Nagini, and in the pit of his stomach he desperately wanted to vomit.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Charity Burbage was murdered by Voldemort. I can't take this much longer. When strangers were the victims, it was bad enough; to have them recognize me and plead for mercy I am unable to provide is demoralizing and infuriating. If the dark lord isn't defeated soon—and there is no indication that he will be—I might have to take it upon myself to do the deed, horcruxes be damned. The next time he makes an appearance, I'll likely be dead anyway. _

_Albus says the whelp Potter must be the one to kill Voldemort…but why? As long as his present body is deceased and the horcruxes are destroyed, it will be over no matter who does the deed. Unless he meant that Potter must let Voldemort kill the horcrux in his spiky head before Voldemort dies. But then again, if Potter dies after the rest are gone, won't the result be the same? All the horcruxes will be dead. As long as we keep Voldemort from coming back before Potter dies, we win. _

_ Note to self: put on my To-Do List "__Make nice with Nagini__". That snake seriously creeps me out._

_ Despite Lucius' obviously defeated attitude, Narcissa is showing herself stronger than I believed possible. She'll be the one to get the family through this, I suppose. I always liked her, now I rely on her for that—to save Lucius and Draco. Is it too soon to make a snarky, innuendo-laden comparison between Lucius' loss of his wand to his loss of masculinity/manhood/power? Probably. He'd break my jaw if I said it out loud, or perhaps tear off my own body parts best left intact._

_ Ah, saving the best—or worst, as the case may be—for last. Potter escaped from Privet Drive exactly as I said he would, in the process getting Mad-Eye Moody killed, along with a few Death Eaters who fell to their deaths or were cursed. It's not that I lament the loss of the Death Eaters, but hasn't the Order even one brain to share among them? Why didn't Moody just go to Potter's house, drag him outside to the garden, and apparate away in a side-along? It takes but a second, by the time any watching Death Eaters could make an appearance or attack, they'd be gone. No danger to anyone else, no risk. Oh, I forgot, that's too simple. Must make everything as unnecessarily complicated and ridiculous as possible. It rivals only Voldemort's plans for stupidity._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

**August 1997**

It had been over two weeks since Severus last saw Lucius, as he dared not make it a habit to visit too often now that a slew of Death Eaters either lived here or paraded through whenever they took a notion. To his relief, Lucius was looking a bit better, healthier. Not emotionally, but that was a whole other issue he didn't care to address. Lucius took him into the parlor across the foyer from another parlor, where several Death Eaters were laughing and carousing, drinking expensive bottles of wine from the cellar and generally making a raucous scene.

He closed the double doors behind them and turned to Severus. "So, Severus, what brings you here?"

"Do I need a reason to see my friend?" asked Snape in return, making himself comfortable on the sofa.

"No, of course not," Lucius murmured, sitting on an armchair beside him. He snapped his fingers for Sisidy. "Bring Mister Snape and myself some beverages—non-alcoholic."

Severus cocked his eyebrows at that. Generally when he and Lucius were alone, the latter enjoyed a glass or two of wine.

Lucius grinned, a very welcome sight after all he'd been through of late. "I see those oafs in their drunken stupidity, and would rather not be associated with them."

Snape grinned back. "How are Narcissa and Draco doing?"

"As well as can be hoped, I suppose." He selected a cup of tea from the platter Sisidy had brought in, and waited for his friend to choose one as well. After Severus picked up a lemonade, he went on, "Bellatrix is driving us all mad. It was bad enough when she lived at the castle and visited occasionally, but now she's here all the bloody time. Driving me out of my mind." He belted back the tea, looking like he wished it were a glass of firewhiskey.

As if hearing her name, the door flung open and who should step in but Bellatrix herself, hands on hips, weight centered on one foot, the other tapping with annoyance. Her puffy black mini-dress, trimmed in lace, bounced with each tap. "Where's Draco? He was supposed to meet me near the drawing room so I could give him lessons on torturing that moron in the cellar."

Lucius' grey eyes turned a distinct steel colour as he rose from his seat in one smooth movement, and whirled on the witch. "I told you to leave my wife and son alone."

Bella threw back her head and laughed. "You're giving me orders now, Loo-see-us?"

In one great stride he was upon her, his hand encircling her wrist, squeezing tightly until she winced, then pulling her arm back so it wrenched her elbow at an ungodly angle. In scarcely more than a whisper, he growled, "If you know what's good for you, you'll back off. This is my home, my family, and I won't have you turning my son into one of _you_!"

He thrust her backward and she stumbled on her spiky heels, barely managing to catch herself before she fell. She'd known Lucius all her life, and had disliked him for the same amount of time. But she _knew_ him…she recognized that spark in his eyes, the one he got right before he did something dangerous or foolish—or both. Warily she stepped back, sneering. He didn't have a wand, but he was proficient in poisons and other sneak attacks…best not give him reason to try them out. "Looks like you finally grew a pair, Malfoy. About time." With that she flounced out, slamming the doors of the parlor.

Shaking his head, Lucius came back to his chair and sat down. "I hate that witch so much I can hardly stand to be in the same room with her. Living with her is, as I said, a nightmare."

"Do you think she'll heed your warning about Draco?"

Lucius sighed, shrugging despondently. "Doesn't much matter what I think, if the dark lord says it's alright, she can do whatever she pleases. Fortunately, he's still pissed at her, too. Until he decrees otherwise, she'd better do as I say or I won't hesitate to…well, let's just say she won't enjoy it."

"That's the spirit, Lucius. Press your advantage," said Severus, smiling. The poor bloke may not get many more opportunities to do so. He would rather like to see what Lucius had planned for her.

"Why don't you tell me of what's going on outside?" said Lucius, settling back in his chair. "As you're aware, I'm not permitted abroad…escaped felon and all. Not to mention without a wand I'm a sitting duck."

"Yes, I fully understand," replied Snape. "Well, school starts in a couple of weeks—you know the dark lord has made me Headmaster, right? Anyway, I'm sure you can imagine how excited I am about returning to that hellhole…"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_Classes are set to begin, and I am Headmaster…has a nice ring to it, or it would if the whole of the staff didn't hate my guts, including my fellow Death Eaters. I'm used to the students despising me, so nothing new there. I hope Minerva doesn't try to ambush me or arrange for the teachers to do something stupid. Whilst I am capable of displaying restraint, as years and years of hell on Earth at this school proves, I don't hold such faith in people like the Carrows._

_Where in the bleeding hell is that dipshit, Potter? I naively assumed he was out on some grand errand like, oh I don't know—destroying the bloody horcruxes! Isn't that what Dumbledore assigned him to do, when he'd have been better served by giving the task to one qualified to do it like, oh I don't know—ME? Even in death that old coot gets my goat. And speaking of goats, Aberforth Dumbledore is making himself a target of the Death Eaters by cozying up to non-Death Eaters. Just saying._

_ Getting back to the Brat-Who-Will-Definitely-Die-If-Voldemort-Finds-Hi m-Before-He-Kills-The-Horcruxes, what is taking him so long? Didn't Albus tell him where to find the blasted things? Of course, we are talking about Potter, so any assumption of competence must necessarily fly out the window. Then again, Dumbledore was a cagey old bastard who clung to his secrets. If he was right about the last horcrux, Potter has to die anyway, so maybe he's taking his good old time to delay the inevitable…except Dumbledore never told him that juicy little tidbit. That, like everything else, falls to me. All those years of protecting the brat, and for what? So I get to tell him he has to let himself be murdered—and naturally he'll believe me and welcome the news with open arms because we're the best of mates. He'll happily prance right into the dark lord's trap and die a horrific death for the sake of the world. Too bad snorts don't show up on paper. When is the last time that whelp did anything for anyone other than himself or his clique of snot-nosed friends?_

_ I want this over, I hate the waiting. I loathe Voldemort even more than I loathe Potter. Did I just say that? Goes to show what years of mental torment will do. Then again, to be fair—and I am nothing if not fair—Potter's not taking over the Ministry, the newspapers, and soon the British Wizarding world. He's an arrogant ponce, but he doesn't hold my life in his hands. Can't say the same for Voldemort. Speaking of which, it's probably time to go suck up some more. Egads, I hate my life._


	18. Book 7 Part 2

8

The Snape Chronicles—Book 7, Part 2

The wards at the Burrow had finally been broken down. Severus arrived at the same time eleven of his cohorts apparated in, all of them clothed in dark cloaks and masks. The first thing he heard was screaming, which was fairly normal for the missions of a Death Eater; entering another's sanctuary unbidden, wands drawn, masked, tended to make people react that way. The crowd were running about like chickens with their heads cut off, which he really didn't like to imagine, having seen the results of some of his companions' work.

He stood still as a statue, gazing about the pavilion, only his eyes moving, searching for Harry. If he could get to him before the others did, he could at least make sure the brat escaped alive, even if it meant taking a hit himself to show Potter had fought back and fled. A sneer formed on his face beneath the mask. As if the whelp could actually get in a shot, let alone defeat him!

Death Eaters were shooting curses every which way, knocking down the tent, smashing tables, generally causing a ruckus. Although most of them did it for the terror factor, he knew some of them just weren't bright enough to think of that, and did it out of animalistic tendencies…or perhaps copying their comrades. Whatever the case, he considered it a horrible waste of resources, not to mention talent. Then again, that begged the question of how talented many of his cohorts were…

Across the dance floor he spied Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley, buffeted on all sides by panicked wedding guests. Severus' sharp eyes detected no sign of Harry, which he thought strange since the trio were generally connected at the hip. What was she shouting? It looked like her mouth formed 'Ron'. His frown deepened as he realized that the redhead beside Granger wasn't Ron after all…so why was she so insistent on staying with him? Unless it was Potter under Polyjuice! Out of nowhere Weasley appeared, grabbed hold of her arm, and the three apparated out, as several other guests had done.

"Place anti-apparition wards!" Snape shouted, pretending to be helpful. "The guests are getting away!" Following his own lead, he began aiming above, muttering the charm to keep the guests here to be questioned. If that redhead was Potter, and he strongly suspected it was, no one—or nearly no one—would have seen the Wonder Brat tonight.

In a matter of minutes the Death Eaters had overpowered those few who'd taken it upon themselves to fight. The house was methodically searched, and not a soul found except…Ron Weasley, ill with spattergroit in the attic room. Interesting. Severus had heard the Ministry chatter, of course, about the supposed illness that would keep the Weasley boy out of school, but his own eyes had not deceived him. He'd seen Weasley less than half an hour ago with Granger and another boy, undoubtedly Potter; he tucked that bit of knowledge away in one of his hidden spaces in his mind.

To Snape's relief, no one was murdered, or even tortured unduly. Then again, Bellatrix hadn't come along, she'd gone to the Tonks house. He cringed inwardly to think of what was going on there right now. Rodolphus was in charge at the Burrow, and he'd ordered the Death Eaters to question the crowd one by one, being as gentle as possible to prompt good behaviour on the part of the guests. If his men disobeyed—well, he was just as likely to hex his own as the enemy if they pissed him off, everyone knew that.

Severus remained in the background, not speaking—his voice being rather distinct, he thought it wise to observe rather than announce his presence by joining in the interrogations. Weaving in and out among the tables, which had been righted for the people to sit while being questioned, he listened and moved on, listened and moved on. He paused in front of Lupin, feeling the desire to hex him for old time's sake, but kept his desire in check. This wasn't the time to settle old scores, was it?

At last, after hours of useless inquiries, the Death Eaters left the tent and apparated away. The dark lord wanted a report as soon as possible…he wasn't going to like what he got. And if things followed as they generally did, the one giving the report wasn't going to like what _he_ got.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"My lord, we questioned dozens of people at length at that blasted wedding. None of them had seen Potter," Rodolphus insisted, head bowed, the bored expression he usually wore replaced with something akin to slight worry. On him, that may as well have been panic.

"And surely they wouldn't _lie_ for the saviour of the wizarding world, would they, Rodolphusss," hissed Voldemort.

"We were very comprehensive in our interrogations," Rodolphus maintained, standing rigidly, looking at his feet. "Snape even used Legilimency on some of them." He turned briefly to point at Severus, slouched against the wall in the corner behind the rest of the Death Eaters who'd been at the Burrow.

Snape shot him a thanks-for-passing-the-blame-to-me look as he straightened up. "My lord, I agree with Lestrange. I saw nothing in any of the guests' minds to indicate they'd seen Potter tonight—or ever, in most cases. I submit that if he'd been there, surely he'd have drawn attention; he's hardly a shrinking violet."

"That is true," said Voldemort, pacing back and forth in front of the group. He glanced up as Bellatrix came prancing in with a small team of her own. "Success, Bellatrix?"

"No, my lord," she murmured, hurrying to him to fall at his feet and kiss his robe. Any contact at all with him made her feel better. From her crouch on the floor she said, "We _crucio_'d the Tonks family over and over, but they wouldn't give us anything. I don't believe Harry Potter is staying with them, or that they know where he went."

Voldemort let out a loud hiss of frustration, making the entire crowd shudder as one. After all the Death Eaters he'd sent out to the Order-connected homes, no one had any information to bring back to him! Glaring at them with red, angry eyes, he finally said, "I have a mission of my own to accomplish. Continue on, find that brat if it's the last thing you do! When you've found him, call me—and not before."

The Death Eaters parted to let their master out of the manor, and when he'd gone Severus glanced about for Lucius. He wasn't here, probably because he'd not been part of the operation, and so was not deemed useful. He could go through the house looking for him, but decided against it—too many Death Eaters, many of whom would delight in telling the dark lord that Snape spent an inordinate amount of time with the disgraced Malfoy. He'd call on Lucius later when the rest were drunk or gone.

Before he'd got to the door, he heard Bellatrix's grating voice again. "We have to find him! Now that he's of age, we can't track him from the Ministry by use of magic. We've checked all the Order hideouts. What are we going to do?"

There was a general silence, then mumbling in the ranks. Then Dolohov piped up, "I've been with the dark lord longer than any of you—except you, Mulciber. Remember the time back in school the dark lord used a charm to locate some prick who'd been annoying him, but had graduated already?"

"Yeah…I do," said Mulciber, nodding, smiling. "Crushed him like a bug."

"Yeah, whatever—the point is, he used a form of _tracking_. Do you recall the spell?"

Mulciber's eyes flitted toward the ceiling, remembering. "It was a Taboo spell. You attach it to a word, and when anyone says that word, you can track them to wherever they are." He grinned wolfishly. "And I just so happen to recall the incantation."

"Good," said Bella, wedging between the friends. "Tell it to me, and we'll get this started."

"Why you?" asked Mulciber indignantly. "I want the credit."

"Because I've got a wand in your face," answered the witch. Sure enough, she'd produced her wand, which was jammed right into Mulciber's cheek. "Tell me the spell and we'll set it on a word…what word?"

"Voldemort," said Rodolphus, his clear, deep voice rumbling through the throng; another shudder passed through the group. He stepped to the front and turned to face them. "It makes sense. Hardly anyone dares use the name now, except that cheeky brat and his friends. The next time anyone says it, we apparate to his location and voila. Potter on a plate."

This time the only one to shudder was Snape. The insolent whelp would be caught in a matter of hours, the way he talked! And as usual, there was not a damned thing Severus could do about it.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ That idiot Potter or one of his equally idiotic friends used Voldemort's name, bringing Dolohov and Rowle down upon them. I'm aware that they don't know there's a spell out there to detect the use of the dark lord's name, but you'd think they'd at least try to keep a low profile. Or am I asking the impossible from that attention-seeking prat? To my dismay, they actually fought back and overpowered Dolohov and Rowle, __obliviating__ them. Even the dark lord couldn't retrieve their memories without ruining what little minds they've got, as he needs all the Death Eaters he can get. He forced Draco to __crucio__ them. Lucius was livid, but could do nothing to prevent it…he couldn't even object without being punished himself._

_ Someone—I'm guessing Moody by the voice—put curses on Grimmauld Place, aimed at me. A simple tongue-tie curse and Dumbledore's image in dust. Seriously? It was not particularly effective in keeping me out, nor did it frighten me. Try living my life, interacting on a regular basis with the darkest wizard ever to live, and find out what real fear is. There are now Death Eaters stationed outside to watch it every day, searching for the fruitless trio, so far to no avail._

_ Death Eaters are now fully in charge of the Ministry of Magic. They killed Scrimgeour and__ imperiused __Pius Thicknesse to take over his job. They also now control the __Daily Prophet__, as if that really makes a difference. The paper was a rag from the start, its so-called facts have always been in question. Nonetheless, there are always gullible individuals who will believe whatever they read, to the detriment of all of us._

_The Toad Woman has begun a Muggleborn Register at the Ministry, using it as an excuse to ship off muggleborns to Azkaban under the pretense of 'stealing magic'. I've rarely heard of anything so ridiculous, yet they get away with it. The dark lord doesn't care, of course, since he'd prefer to butcher the entire muggleborn population; he says their ties with the non-magical world make all witches and wizards vulnerable. Whilst there is some truth to that, it doesn't justify wholesale slaughter or imprisonment._

_ And, as if life weren't giving me the finger enough, attendance at Hogwarts has become compulsory for all purebloods and halfbloods, making their indoctrination into the Cult of Voldemort easier for all. My new teachers, the Carrow siblings, will undoubtedly make life hell for one and all. Aside from being dangerous, destructive dolts of the highest order, I simply don't like them. And I suspect Amycus may be a pervert. It just gets better and better…_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Severus was at his desk in what used to be Dumbledore's office, tapping his fingers impatiently on the smooth wood. He hated this office. He hated that this was where he had to be. He hated everything about this situation, including his strained, to put it politely, relationships with the other teachers. When he was merely a spy, he garnered enough suspicion and dislike; now that he'd been revealed for a full-fledged Death Eater, their sentiments had veered to the decidedly hostile category. He wouldn't put it past them to be plotting against him. In fact, he thought perhaps he ought to institute mandatory Legilimency sessions, under the guise of performance reviews or some such nonsense—anything to get them in here where he could read them and find out what was going on. It also couldn't hurt to announce at the upcoming staff meeting that were he to be replaced with another Death Eater, conditions at Hogwarts were likely to deteriorate rapidly. Illuminating the finer points of Bellatrix or Dolohov might work wonders for morale. The teachers might even advise the students to restrain themselves, lest they find themselves taught completely by a staff of Death Eaters with no compunctions about punishment-by-torture.

His head lifted when he heard a pounding at the door. Since Dumbledore's death, there'd been no password needed to get up here, so it could be anyone. Sliding his wand out, ready, he said, "Come in."

When the man opened the door, Severus froze, truly stunned. He'd expected Minerva or Flitwick, or even one of the Carrows—not Walden Macnair! The man strode in, his muscular, tall frame taking up the entire doorway.

"Hey, Snape," he said by way of greeting.

"Macnair," returned Severus, recovering himself. "Has the dark lord sent you?"

"Well, yes, sort of." Without waiting for an invitation, he seated himself opposite the headmaster. The only sign of nervousness was in the way he stroked his thick black mustache before going on. "I asked him about getting a teaching position here, and he said I'd have to clear it with you."

"Teaching? You?" said Snape, his voice dripping with disbelief.

"It was my idea!" chimed in a voice from the doorway. Amycus Carrow poked his head around the corner, grinning. He stepped inside the door.

Severus glared at him, then turned his blank stare to Macnair. He said nothing, and the silence was far more intimidating than any response could have been.

"Anyway," said Macnair, smoothing out his mustache again. "I was thinking you've got someone to teach the little kids how to fly, but this place could use an instructor for advanced flying—you know, for the sixth and seventh years who don't play Quidditch. I'm a right good flyer, and—" Here he broke off, chuckling and leering, "—if some of the pretty birds wanted to ride _my_ broomstick, I wouldn't put up a fuss, if you know what I mean."

"One would have to be mentally impaired not to pick up on your lecherous references," Severus replied coldly. "Let me make it crystal clear that any 'birds you ride' will be of the avian variety. There will be no riding of broomsticks, either literally or figuratively."

"Why can't I have the job if I promise not to touch the girls?" pleaded Macnair.

"Because the dark lord doesn't wish there to be any opportunity for children to leave the grounds, and perhaps not return," snapped Severus. To Carrow, he purred, "And if I find out that you have been carousing with the students, you may find certain favoured parts of your anatomy missing. Do we understand one another?"

"He means he'll cut off your bits," Macnair explained helpfully.

"I know what he means!" Carrow snapped sulkily. "Why do you care, Snape? You jealous that they don't want you?"

There was a flash of light, then Carrow was clutching his throat, gasping for air. He fell to his knees, imploring with his eyes while Snape watched impassively. Slowly his face turned blue, then purple, and he dropped onto his side, weakly thrashing one arm in surrender.

Macnair cleared his throat, one hand toying with his own neck as he grimaced. "You gonna let him die? If you do, can I have his job? I'm even better at Dark Arts than at flying."

Severus lifted the spell and Carrow gasped loudly, inhaling with a deep wheezing sound. "Do we understand one another, Amycus?"

Tears dripping from his eyes, Carrow nodded as he backed up on all fours and disappeared round the corner.

"So…that's a _no_ on his job, huh?" asked Macnair.

Severus glowered at him. "If you're so insistent on working here, you can be a gamekeeper."

"What?" sputtered Macnair. "You mean like that giant oaf, Heinrich?"

"Hagrid. And yes." Severus sneered at him. "One doesn't have to be giant to be an oaf."

Pulling his brows down, Macnair stood up indignantly. "No, thanks! Some friend you are."

"I never claimed to be your friend."

"Well, good, because you're not!" Macnair snarled, storming out. He tried to slam the door, but it remained defiantly in its open position, unbudging. Turning up his nose, he stomped down the stairs.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Macnair applied for a teaching position here. As if! I'd have rejected the Carrows as well if the dark lord hadn't appointed them himself…but then, he's not exactly a master of instruction. I should probably keep thoughts like that to myself. I wish Lucius were appointed, I wouldn't have to worry about him gravely harming anyone or trying to seduce the girls. However, without a wand that isn't going to happen, and he might enjoy being out of the manor, so Voldemort would definitely not allow it. _

_Apparently Potter and company invaded the Ministry of Magic under cover of Polyjuice—seems he's getting quite a lot of mileage out of that potion. Miss Granger's illicit practice in second year is paying off, I see. The personages whose identities they stole were understandably upset, claiming to know nothing of it. At any rate, they ended up freeing ten or so muggleborns. It's the first thing he's done right so far, and I don't even know if that's why he was there to begin with. Probably a lucky accident. I really can't imagine why he was there…it had better have to do with finding and destroying a horcrux or I may have to abdicate my post and go murder the brat myself._

_ If only there were someone I could trust apart from Lucius, who can't do a thing for me at present. The life of a spy—and now spy-turned-mutineer—is quite frustrating. If I dared, I'd say to hell with all of this and head out to find the horcruxes myself, only chances of finding them all and destroying them before the dark lord sent out his minions to torture me into blood soup are slim at best. I have to rely on—ugh—Potter to get it done. I fear I may die of old age in this wretched school. I hate my life._


	19. Book 7 Part 3

9

The Snape Chronicles—Book 7 Part 3

(**A/N:** Sorry for the long delay. Real life, illness, etc. has kept me from working on the story. Reviews make me happy, though, and compel me to work harder. :D)

**Late September**

Ordinarily Severus didn't much bother with student complaints because they were—well, complaining. That's what bratty children did. However, when word came to him from more than one of his Slytherins, in addition to a Hufflepuff, he sat up straighter and listened more intently. While Gryffindors were prone to exaggeration and histrionics, Hufflepuffs were more grounded, more…honest. And his Slytherins knew from years of his tutelage that they'd better not even _try_ to pull one over on him, let alone lie to his face. Armed with this assurance, he slammed shut his desk drawer and stood up.

The two Slytherins, a seventh year prefect boy and a girl who appeared to be his girlfriend, both flinched. The boy stepped backward toward the door, pulling her along with him. "We just thought you ought to know, sir," he said quietly.

"Thank you. I shall deal with the situation," Snape answered curtly, sweeping past the students and down the spiral staircase.

Repeating every foul expletive he knew under his breath, he stalked down the corridor like a bat with a mission, robes billowing majestically. If one didn't know better, one might swear he looked ready to take off and fly to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Students in the corridors jumped aside to let him pass. When he reached the classroom, he jerked open the door and marched in; a pupil who stood with his palms on the front desk turned his head to look at the headmaster, eyes carrying a defeated, frightened expression. Amycus Carrow, sturdy rod in one hand, drawn back and ready to whip at the boy, lifted his head and offered a sneering smile. A girl sat at the table nearest the front, sniffling.

"Come to get your licks in, Snape?" Carrow said, laughing.

Severus stopped, staring at Amycus with utter loathing. To the students he ordered, "Get out, Jefferson. You, too, Smythe."

Not waiting to find out why they'd been liberated, the two bolted from the room like their robes were on fire. When there remained only himself and Carrow, he flung the door closed with a swipe of his hand and then approached the teacher. Fire almost literally shot from his eyes.

Jaw clenched, he spat out, "What in bloody hell do you think you're doing, Carrow?"

Peeved that he'd lost his fun, and annoyed with the one who'd caused it, Amycus snarled, "Disciplining some of the brats. What's it to you? You're always saying how you can't stand them."

"Be that as it may, I determine the extent of discipline at Hogwarts," Severus drawled, taking a few more steps until he was a mere meter away from Carrow.

"The dark lord does!" Carrow shouted.

"And the dark lord has placed me in the position of power over you!" Snape shouted back. "I will not permit molestation on my watch!"

"W-what?" Carrow sputtered, suddenly not so sure of himself. The expression on his face resembled that of a child with his hand caught in the cookie jar.

"I have heard from reliable sources that you've been not only beating the children, you've been…" He paused, twisting his face into a disgusted scowl. "…lifting the girls' skirts and spanking them barehanded to feel them up like the miscreant you evidently are. It. Will. Stop. Now."

"Says who?" Carrow managed, gathering his bravado.

Wand appearing in his hand, Severus rammed it into Amycus' cheek and pushed, bending the latter backward over his desk and leaving a deep red crease in his skin. "The dark lord expects us to train these children to follow him, not to satisfy your perverse lusts with them. He gives you the authority to use physical force when necessary, and no more. No touching, no petting, no stroking, no fondling, no ANYTHING else. I'll be watching you very closely, Carrow, and if I even suspect you of molesting a girl again, I will kill you. Macnair is more than willing to take your place, and frankly I believe he's more competent than you are."

Eyes bulging from their sockets, Amycus tried to move, but the wand pressed ever harder. "I wasn't molesting 'em, I—I just—it was—spanking, that's all. I never shagged any of 'em, I never did anything else—"

"And now it stops entirely. Does your miniature brain comprehend that?"

"Y-yes," he stammered, sweat dripping from his brow. From stories he'd heard, Snape had killed for less; he had no reason to believe Snape wouldn't carry through on this threat. "N-no more touching."

The wand disappeared from his cheek, and into Severus' pocket. His face returning to its typical blankness, Severus said coolly, "Isn't it nice that we can find common ground and come to an understanding?" With that he spun on his heel, flung open the door, and strode out.

As if he weren't in a bad enough mood, he hadn't even made it back to the headmaster's office when he sensed something was wrong. A quick look behind verified that Carrow wasn't sneaking along hoping to curse him—as if he'd dare. No, the matter lie ahead…what was it? A noise, he'd heard a faint rustling ahead. On edge, he skulked on to the next intersection, where he encountered Amycus' sister, Alecto, waddling his way.

"Snape! I was looking for you."

"Forgive me if I don't jump for joy," he responded blandly.

"I wanted to talk—" The sound of shattering glass in the distance shut her up.

Snape took off at a run toward his office, with the pudgy Carrow woman wheezing behind him, trying to keep up. Just as he placed his foot on the lowest step, thumping from above got louder and louder till he stood face to face with two very guilty Gryffindors and—to his astonishment—a rather dreamy, airheaded Ravenclaw on their way down the spiral staircase: one of them held the sword of Gryffindor in her hands.

"Miss Weasley, I see you've taken the liberty of studying ancient artifacts that don't belong to you," he cooed, drawing his wand again. He flicked it upward, motioning. "Get back up there!"

Ginny, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood turned and tramped back up the stairs with Severus on their heels, wand unwavering. Huffing and puffing, Alecto stamped up the stairs behind him. When he entered his office, he immediately noted the smashed glass display case that had until moments ago housed the sword.

"Set it on the desk and the three of you sit yourselves down," he commanded. Reaching under his desk, he pressed a button he'd installed to call Hagrid. An idea garnered from muggle intercoms, it saved a lot of time over tracking down the giant. Addressing the three anxious faces aimed his way, he clipped, "So. I always believed Ronald Weasley to be a thief, along with Harry Potter and Hermione Granger. Somehow I didn't suspect his dear little sister of possessing his criminal tendencies."

Ginny set the sword reverently upon the desk; she'd like to have thrown it in anger, or even used it on Snape, but he did have his wand out, and everyone knew he was willing to use it. "It's not yours," she said defiantly.

"Nor is it yours, Miss Weasley," he countered smoothly. He pointed to where Neville was crunched up next to Luna on a chair, looking ready to fall off at any second. "Sit!"

Alecto entered the office, still breathing hard, and sneered at the three pupils. "Now you've—gone—and done it—haven't you? Stupid—little—ignorant brats. Curse 'em good!"

Snape silenced her with a glare. "I am perfectly capable of managing the situation, Carrow."

Ginny dropped to the floor beside Neville, sulking and frightened at once. They'd been watching Snape, and the minute he left his office they'd taken the opportunity to raid his office to steal the sword. No, scratch that—the moment those two Slytherins had left, they'd scurried up the stairs. She wasn't entirely sure what they intended to do with the sword, but as a Gryffindor, she felt sure she or Neville would be able to wield it against the Death Eaters invading the school. Now, from her vantage point on the floor, it didn't seem like such a good idea anymore. What was Snape going to do to them? Already the Carrows used curses on the students; what wicked punishment did this greasy bat hold in store for them?

"What were you planning to do with the sword?" asked Severus, glaring from one child's face to the next. Neville scrunched up his own face and looked away; Luna seemed to stare right through him in one of her spacey dreams; only Ginny returned his stare with a fierce one of her own. "Were you hoping to sell it? Give it to the dark lord in exchange for Potter's life?" He laughed out loud, a strange sound that none of them had ever heard, and found unnerving.

For mere effect, Snape began to pace menacingly in front of them—as much to instill fear to keep the brats in line as to show Alecto Carrow that he was one to be reckoned with. Word of mouth was so very important in his line of work.

"It seems to me that wayward students need to be dealt with," Snape said in a calm, smooth drawl that made the children's blood run cold. "Swords are dangerous toys, are they not? Perhaps we should let you experience true danger to help alleviate your Gryffindor need for committing foolish, senseless acts." To Luna he added, "I am at a loss to explain how you fell in with this crew. Nonetheless, your presence dictates that you must be punished along with them."

"We—we're okay," stammered Neville, still unable to meet his gaze. "We won't be any more trouble."

"Are you going to turn us into squid bait and drop us into the lake, Professor?" asked Luna in a level tone. If it weren't Luna, he wouldn't have believed she was serious.

"No, Miss Lovegood. I think a thorough tour of the Forbidden Forest ought to give you a good dose of excitement." A heavy knock sounded at the open door, and Severus motioned the giant groundskeeper inside. "Hagrid, these students have been caught in the act of theft. Rather than curse them, I prefer to teach them a lesson they'll remember. You will take them into the Forbidden Forest tonight to help you with your work. Make sure they encounter some of the delicacies the Forest has to offer."

"Yes, sir," Hagrid mumbled, giving the headmaster an odd look. How was that going to teach them a lesson about stealing? It wasn't as if they'd be in any real danger with him around, was there? Not that he'd say a thing, make Snape change his mind and hurt the kids.

Alecto gasped, then hurriedly placed a chubby hand over her mouth. The Forbidden Forest? Even she wouldn't have been that cruel! All her years in Hogwarts she'd been warned to stay out of the Forest, that it contained horrible, vicious creatures. And with that awful brute of a gamekeeper, that useless oaf? They wanted the brats alive, didn't they? Well, maybe Snape didn't.

Severus glanced her way, then directed his next comments to the students. "You are to follow Hagrid. If you survive the night, I expect you to return and complete your homework, and be back in class tomorrow." With that he waved them out of the room. He listened to Hagrid's heavy form clomping down the steps, and the tromp of the students following him. "Alecto, was there something you wanted?"

The witch shook her head wordlessly. She'd rather forgotten why she'd tracked him down to begin with. She could hardly wait to tell her brother the awfully wonderful punishment Snape had handed out!

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ If I could do so without answering to Lord Voldemort, I'd blast that pervert Carrow out of existence. The dark lord encourages the use of curses on the students, so there is nothing I can do to gainsay him unless I want to enter oblivion myself. However, I will not permit Carrow or any other Death Eater to sexually molest the students. I fear if I hadn't been informed, it may have progressed to rape._

_ A small group of the students are becoming unruly, a constant headache. More than before, that is. If I could trust the Carrows not to murder the whelps, I'd let them have full rein to bring them into line. Not long ago Miss Weasley and her cohorts were caught stealing the sword of Gryffindor. Well, not the __real__ sword, but they didn't know that. Albus made a copy of it after injuring himself while destroying the ring horcrux. The real one is still hidden in the cavity behind Dumbledore's portrait. I sent the fake sword to Gringotts to be guarded; it now rests in Bellatrix's vault, and only an insane person would attempt to get at it there…so I expect I'll hear of Potter attempting it anytime now._

_ Lord Voldemort placed Nagini into the body of Bathilda Bagshot, knowing that Potter couldn't resist going to Godric's Hollow. That brat is so damned predictable! On the upside of predictability, he always manages to wriggle out of trouble, just as he did this time. He was bitten by Nagini, but escaped with Miss Granger. I have to assume he'll be fine, he always is. Why aren't they searching for horcruxes instead of parading around Godric's Hollow and consorting with old women they don't know? I thought Miss Granger was brighter than that, but I've come to wonder about her as well._

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

**December**

_"Snape! Headmaster!" Phineas Nigellus Black came racing into his portrait frame. "Headmaster, they are camping in the Forest of Dean! The mudblood—"_

With the entire conversation running through his head, he prepared for his task. So now he knew where Potter and his friends were, after all this time. Phineas Nigellus had tried for months to overhear, but Granger kept smashing his portrait down into her bag. Well, she'd slipped up, as he knew they inevitably would. With Dumbledore prompting him from his portrait—in a most annoying fashion, he might add—Severus swung the portrait of Albus away from the wall, revealing a long, deep cavity where they'd stashed the sword so long ago. He pulled it out and replaced the portrait in its spot.

Throwing his heavy winter cloak around himself, he looked up at Albus. No, there was no need to ask again; the ancient coot had made it abundantly clear he had no intention of saying why this was so important for Potter to have the sword. For crying out loud, it wasn't as if Snape would let the dark lord know! It was Potter that Albus should be worried about, Potter who couldn't use Occlumency if his life depended on it, which apparently it did with the dark lord able to access his pitiful thoughts at will. So here he went to save the brat again, a most thankless and repetitive task.

He went to the largest window of his office, sword secured on his back, and leapt out. He flew across the Hogwarts grounds until he was past the anti-apparition wards, then disapparated. Landing in a thicket of trees, in a cold and windy spot, he stood absolutely still while gathering his bearings. They could be anywhere nearby, and if he knew Granger she'd have placed wards to keep them from being detected. He could, of course, easily break any wards she'd have placed, but that would only alert them to his presence, which he was trying to avoid.

Turning his neck to get a view of the surroundings in the inky darkness, illuminated with the barest of starlight, he noted a frozen pool of water nearby. He edged forward and peered in to discover it was at least waist deep, but no more than mid-chest. Yes, that would be perfect! Not only would it keep the submerged sword hidden from a casual observer, it would make the brat get himself nice and wet retrieving it. So what if that seemed a bit spiteful, the little monster deserved it for the way he'd treated Snape all those years!

Taking the sword from his back, he tossed it into the pool and watched it sink to the bottom. Then he removed his wand and placed a series of spells over the water and the sword. No one was going to pull that out without some effort, and no one but a Gryffindor would now be able to remove it, so that idiot Potter had better not screw up! Lastly, he cast a disillusionment spell over himself, hid behind a tree, and then cast the final spell: his doe patronus, brilliant as a summer sun, leapt from the end of his wand.

"Find Harry Potter and lead him to this spot," instructed Snape softly.

The doe bounded off. No more than ten minutes later, it appeared in the distance, with a shape following along. Ah, yes, predictable Potter couldn't resist following the patronus. Good thing he wasn't leading the urchin into an ambush, wasn't it? Silently he watched as Harry approached, until he came upon the pool of water. The doe vanished, and Harry lit the tip of his wand. He searched in the darkness around him before at last looking down into the reflective water covered by ice.

Finally! Severus continued to observe to make sure Potter really did see the sword. Yes, he tried to _accio_ it. Severus hadn't quite counted on Potter stripping to his underwear to get into the pool, and he grimaced as he turned aside his eyes. What was the brat wearing around his neck? It looked like a locket, and although Potter was something of an oddball, he wasn't one to wear jewelry of that sort. Was it another horcrux? If so, why hadn't he destroyed it? Then Harry jumped into the water with a tiny splash.

Snape smiled when Harry dived in, fully submerging himself into the water. When the whelp failed to reappear, his smile faded. Son. Of. A. Bitch. How could he drown in water to his chest? He had to actually go save the brat _again_, now? He'd just started for the pool when he heard a cracking of twigs, running feet, and Ron Weasley was rushing toward the pool. Severus stopped, mind racing. Weasley could save Potter and retrieve the sword. He was no longer needed, and certainly didn't need to be discovered. Should he stay or go? No, he must see this through. He carefully observed the splashing in the water; only after Ron had dragged a sputtering Harry from the water and heaved the sword onto the ground did he relax and disapparate.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_As usual Potter managed to muck things up. I all but led him by the hand to the sword, and he still almost drowned and had to have Weasley rescue him. Pathetic. And __he__ is the hope of the wizarding world? I fear for all wizards and witches._

_ Xenophilius Lovegood tried to turn in Potter and his comrades when they showed up at his house—again, what the hell were they doing there? What does Lovegood have to do with horcruxes, you moron? Do your damned job and be done with it! I digress. Lovegood's daughter has been taken by Death Eaters, so I understand his motivation in calling them to come get Potter in exchange for her._

_ Travers and Selwyn arrived at his home just as it exploded from within, making them believe he tried to kill them. Selwyn, in his typical brutal style, repeatedly blasted the poor fellow with painful curses. He's a sadistic prick as much as his relative Dolores Umbridge. Muggle torture and death is on the increase as the war heats up and both sides are afraid of losing, and people like Selwyn are at the forefront._

_ At any rate, Travers saw Potter and Granger disapparating, which proved they were indeed there. Where they are now is anyone's guess, though I'm willing to bet it isn't anywhere that will find and destroy horcruxes! I can't believe my fate and the fate of the world rests on those scrawny shoulders. I hate my life._


	20. Book 7 Part 4

8

The Snape Chronicles—Book 7 Part 4

"Lucius, you look terrible." Severus seated himself in the armchair beside his friend, facing the fire. He wondered idly if Lucius had asked him to this room so they needn't look into each other's eyes. Perhaps he feared Severus might utilize Legilimency on him as he'd done once or twice in the past, even though he'd promised not to do so again without permission.

Bruised face unconcealed by a charm, hair uncombed—so unlike himself—Lucius shrugged, a motion that in itself looked painful. "You've endured the Cruciatus, you know how it feels." His voice, Snape noted, still held that tinge of roughness from his stint in Azkaban. Or perhaps from screaming for a prolonged period of time.

Snape glanced around to make sure no one was near before responding in a low tone, "The dark lord isn't forgiving, and right now he's on edge all the time. Why did you call him?"

"Because we had Potter!" Malfoy spat, teeth clenched. "All would have been forgiven, we wouldn't be prisoners, I'd be allowed to get a new wand, he'd leave Draco alone…" Tears hung in his eyes, which Snape noticed but pretended not to. "You don't know what it's like."

"No, but I can imagine," said Severus softly. He'd been raised with a brutal muggle father who resented and feared magic; Severus had to turn over his wand every time he came home on holiday. He was frequently beaten for little or no reason, he had nowhere else to go. Yes, he could imagine very well what Lucius and his family were going through…all except the part with Draco. Snape had no son to be tormented, used against him, forced to hurt others for the pleasure of the dark lord. "Soon it will be over. The war is coming to a head."

"Yes, it will," echoed Lucius hollowly. He turned his head, peering at his friend, voice barely a whisper. "And who will win? If we win, what victory is that?"

There seemed no purpose in answering that, as Snape didn't have any real response. "Do you need anything? Can I give you a potion or something?"

"No." Lucius shrugged again, a helpless, despairing gesture. "What's the use? He'll only do it again. He beats me and curses me every time he sees me, and I can't even stay out of his sight because he expects me there."

Footsteps in the adjacent hallway approached, a group of people by the sound of it. Immediately Lucius sat up straighter, his face morphing into the normal, haughty dispassionate air that characterized Death Eater Lucius. Severus, too, returned his face to its typical blankness, though to be fair it hadn't strayed far from it to begin with. Years of spying had taught him to wear the mask at all times.

"There you are, Malfoy," said Bella, sidling up to him and gawking down at him. "Why are you in here with _him_ when you could be associating with more respectable sorts." She plopped herself onto the arm of his chair. Severus thought he saw the vestiges of bruising on one arm, covered mostly by a long, lacy sleeve.

"It's no secret that I prefer his company to yours, dear sister-in-law," Lucius returned, smiling tightly.

She seemed not to hear him, or not to care if she did. She was busy gaping around the room. "Where's Cissy?"

"Upstairs, I imagine," said Lucius. He tried brushing her off the arm of the chair, but her bum appeared glued to the spot. Anything less than a good shove wasn't going to do the trick.

Bella took the glass of wine set on a low table next to the chair and drained it in two gulps. Then she looked at Lucius and grinned. "Oh, was that yours? So sorry."

Two other Death Eaters had entertained themselves by exploring the room, and one was industriously studying the portraits of Lucius' parents over the fireplace. "Your dad looks just like you, Lucius." He reached out to touch Thalia Malfoy, who shrieked and shrunk back from him.

Lucius sprang from his chair. "Don't you dare touch my mother with those perverse hands of yours!"

Jugson swung round to face him, wand drawn. The smell of his breath said he'd been drinking before he got here. "What are you gonna do about it, Malfoy? Your mum is one fit lady!"

"She was," said the other Death Eater. "She's dead, in case you didn't notice."

"Yeah, but if she was alive, I could think of a lot of ways to spend quality time with her," leered Jugson, chuckling. "Ain't that right, pretty lady?"

From the portrait beside Thalia's came a booming voice. Abraxas, now cuddling his wife to his chest, eyes aflame with hatred, drawled, "Were my wife alive, I would be as well. If you ever so much as glanced her way, I'd curse you into oblivion. Or better yet, I'd kick in those buck teeth of yours, then drag your sorry arse to the entryway and kick it out the door."

A barking laugh escaped Severus, and he quickly quieted himself. It wasn't his way to make an outburst, but he'd sorely love to see Abraxas make good on that threat! Snape knew for a fact he could have.

Jugson's wand flashed over to the portrait. "Maybe I ought to burn you up, old man. When you're gone, I can do as I please without your annoying interruptions."

"Jugson, if you care to get out of this war alive, I suggest you back off," Lucius warned.

"Or what?" scoffed the other. "What're you gonna do, talk me to death? You've got no wand!"

"I'll rip your head off with my bare hands! You'd better not touch that portrait—" was all Lucius got out before Bella detached herself from his chair and stood up.

She brushed down her frilly skirt and minced on her stiletto heels over to the portrait, standing between it and Jugson. A wand appeared in her hand, ostensibly from her cleavage, since Snape could see nowhere else to hide it. He wondered if she'd stolen it from one of the snatchers she'd murdered days ago. Twirling it lazily in her fingers, she cooed, "Lucius is my brother-in-law. That makes Abraxas Malfoy family, doesn't it? You wouldn't want to f—k with my family, now would you, Jugson?"

The Death Eater stared at the wand spinning inches from his nose, and his head shook left and right of its own accord. He found himself backing up, his wand dropping so the deranged woman couldn't claim he'd intended to use it. "N-No, not at all. I never thought of it that way."

"And you'd like to apologize to Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy for your off-colour remarks, wouldn't you?"

"Yes, I would," he gushed, nodding furiously now. His eyes bounced anxiously back and forth between the portraits and the wand. "So sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. You too, Mr. Malfoy. It won't happen again. My mistake." He gave a tiny, awkward bow and ran from the room.

Bella smiled in such a pleasant way it sent chills down Snape's spine. Turning to the other Death Eater who'd come into the room with them, she said smoothly, "You sure you don't want to give it a go?"

The Death Eater, feeling her intense gaze settling upon him, backed up toward the doorway, hands held up with palms exposed. "I had nothing to do with it, Bella. He's on his own there." As he hurried out, he muttered, "You're all crazy."

Clearing his throat, Lucius inclined his head toward his sister-in-law. "Thank you, Bella, that was…unexpectedly kind."

She sniffed in his direction. "I didn't do it for you, blondie. I happen to like Abraxas." Smiling at the portraits, she said, "I remember loads of times coming here as a girl, and he was always good to me, not like _you_."

"Well, you weren't picking on him and pushing him into the pond!" Lucius shot back.

"Baby," she said, not even bothering to face him. "I think I'll see if Rodolphus is back. He was going muggle hunting without me." The way she said it implied she'd have gone were she permitted to leave the manor. She pranced off, leaving the two friends alone once more.

"Well, that was…interesting," said Severus with a hint of a smile.

"Yes, there's always some drama going on here now," replied Lucius, sinking back into his seat, the defeated look returning. "So how is your life at Hogwarts going? Still haven't killed the Carrows?"

Severus chuckled. "Not yet. Not for lack of desire…."

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ Potter and his cohorts were captured and taken to Malfoy Manor. I knew it would only be a matter of time before the idiot said the dark lord's name out loud. The old Malfoy elf, Dobby, somehow found out where he was and came to rescue him. I swear, that sainted 'hero' is incapable of doing anything on his own! How the hell did Dumbledore ever suppose he'd be able to take down the darkest wizard of all time? Bellatrix stabbed Dobby as he was leaving; I have no idea what became of him after that. _

_ Oh, on another interesting note, Wormtail's metal hand, given him by the dark lord, strangled him. Why am I not surprised? If I were that hand, I'd try to get away from him, too. Though he was a pathetic servant, at least I had someone to cook for me. Now that it's back to only myself, I'm back to toast and jam. I suspect I'll lose what little weight I gained while he was there to tend me. _

_I visited Lucius after his unfortunate encounter with Lord Voldemort. He'd been terribly punished; he said he'd suffered the Cruciatus, but there's more to it, I can tell. We've been friends far too long for him to fool me. One day he may tell me, but if he doesn't, that's his right. I don't suppose he enjoys talking about tortures he's forced to endure. Draco didn't even come downstairs. I think he hides in his room unless the dark lord demands his presence, and I can't say I blame the poor kid. Narcissa…where do I begin? I've never seen her like this, not even when Lucius was badly hurt in the first war, when he almost died. Then she was in shock, now she's a shadow of her former self, forcing herself to step up and take over the family because Lucius has fallen so far from his place as protector and lord of the manor. It's heartbreaking to witness._

_ Jugson, in his typical arrogant asininity, made inappropriate comments about Lucius' dead mother. I thought Lucius might tear him apart, then to my dismay Bellatrix came forward and frightened Jugson into submission. I must say, she's got a way about her—an insane way, but it got the job done. Everyone except myself and Lucius and Narcissa are afraid of that mad bitch. Even Rodolphus steers clear of her when she's on a rampage._

_ The dark lord told me he'd killed Gregorovitch in his search for the Elder Wand. That's a shame, and he didn't even get the wand out of it. He later stole it from Dumbledore's tomb. I'm not entirely sure how true the legend of the Elder Wand is, but it's frightening to consider that Voldemort may now be capable of harnessing even more power than before. If his schemes weren't always so ridiculously convoluted and complex, practically doomed to failure, I'd say his chances of killing Potter just went up about ten notches. Then again, this time he only wants to catch the brat and __a.k.__ him. That might just work._

_ Speaking of the whelp and his mates, they broke into Gringotts—the Lestrange vault—to steal a golden cup which I can only assume he thinks is a horcrux. Maybe it is. I hope so. Of course, Potter can never do anything subtly, he must make his grand presence known by alerting every goblin in the country, along with everyone else by stealing a dragon! At any rate, he got away with the goblet…perhaps he finally did something right-ish. _

_However, Voldemort now knows they're hunting horcruxes, and was furious. He didn't say it, but the way he cut down every Death Eater in sight at the news was a clue. Fortunately Lucius escaped his wrath…so did Bella. Damn. Anyway, he told me to keep a watch for Potter trying to enter Hogwarts, which means another horcrux lies there. If only I knew what it was, I'd destroy the blasted thing myself!_

_ As if to make sure the Death Eaters could keep a running track of where he was, Potter showed up in Hogsmeade, breaking curfew and setting off the alarms set there. Then, as if that weren't bad enough, the moron sent his patronus charging down the street! Has that boy got a mental deficiency? I always thought he was lazy; perhaps there is a reason for his idiocy. Aberforth Dumbledore took responsibility for the patronus, saving the brat once again. Why couldn't Albus have trusted a competent wizard with the task? Oh, that's right—Albus never trusted anyone but himself, and look what's come of that!_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

Bent over his desk, Snape scrawled another note into his To-Do List: _Once the dark lord is dead, make the Carrows pay for making my life at Hogwarts even less bearable than before._ It wasn't the first of its kind in the past months, and he read it with disgust. He'd never be allowed to take retribution on them when the law butted itself into the mix. And that presupposed that Voldemort would lose the war, which wasn't a foregone conclusion at all. The way things were going, it was every bit as likely—if not more so—that Voldemort would triumph, Potter would end up dead due to something stupid he did, and the world would suffer forever.

All at once he viciously ripped out the page and flung it into the fireplace. Despite the warmer weather outside, it remained cold in the castle, and he'd found himself keeping the fire alive at all times. He hugged his thin body with his arms, staring down at the flames licking the edges of the parchment; they became brown, crispy, folding over as it curled into itself and crumbled into a blackened ash, then he turned his attention to the book. How many years had he kept this notebook? Most of his life, and for what? It was pointless, everything was pointless. He'd probably die trying to kill the dark lord, since Dumbledore's pitiful brainwashed minion obviously wasn't up to the task. He'd failed; after all these years of spying, trying, lying, he finally admitted to himself that he couldn't win. Even if the Wonder Brat miraculously managed to destroy the other horcruxes, he didn't know that _he himself _was one, and so Voldemort would go on living. There was no way to even get ahold of Potter, to let him know the final appalling secret.

Was that ridiculous prophecy even true? Albus thought so, but Severus had his doubts. Why did it have to be Potter to kill Voldemort? Why did the whelp have to die—not that Severus had any grave objections to it in principle, but it just seemed like overkill. He smiled briefly at the pun, then grimaced again. It made no sense…nothing Albus did in his damned secretive manner seemed to make sense anymore.

With a heavy heart he picked up the notebook, gave it one last loving caress, and began to tear out the pages several at a time, dropping them into the fire and watching them burn. When he'd done, he threw in the cover, and as it caught flame he drawled, "Minerva, I'd say you were a second-rate spy, but that would give you too much credit. Piss-poor comes to mind. Perhaps you ought to stick to teaching the urchins how to transform turnips into teapots."

In the shadowy far corner near the open door, the animagus form of Minerva drew herself up, arching her back haughtily, and slinked off.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_After unsuccessfully striving to force me into some sort of 'friendly chat', the Fat Friar alerted me that he'd seen Potter in the castle. For a millisecond I thought my luck had turned, that the brat had come into my clutches—er, realm where I could tell him what Albus had demanded I tell him, let him know he needs to die. How could I have been so daft? My luck never changes, I'm doomed to live with nitwits and fools until I die myself. _

_And of course Potter wouldn't believe me, that's not the point! Also irrelevant, since as I snaked along the corridors in search of the little twit, McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout cornered me, dueled me, and forced me from the castle. I must say, I was a little hurt by that. We may not have been close, and they knew I was a Death Eater, but we'd taught side by side for years, and it counted for nothing with them. It does sting a bit that using my reputation as a badass to protect the children from the Carrows means nothing to them—I could have let them punish the brats instead of sending them into the Forest with Hagrid, couldn't I? I could have let the Carrows do so much more than they did to all the students! But no, as usual my reward for service was to be vilified and reviled. And the bitch called me a __coward__, after all I've done! That really tore it. _

_ I jumped through a window, slashing my best cloak…alright, not my best, but one of my favourites. I had to fly to the edge of the property, where I could apparate. Being the dark lord's right hand does have some perks, like the flying stunt. When Lucius was his second-in-command, he learned a lot of new spells that he later showed me. I regret to say I don't think I'll live long enough to teach Lucius to fly, if he even wishes it. The end is very close now, it's either Potter or Voldemort, and anyone with any sense would bet on Voldemort. My gut clenches every time I think of it. I hate my life._


	21. Conclusion

8

The Snape Chronicles—Conclusion

**2 May 1998**

"_I know that you are preparing to fight. Your efforts are futile. You cannot fight me. I do not want to kill you. I have great respect for the teachers of Hogwarts. I do not want to spill magical blood. Give me Harry Potter, and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter, and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter, and you will be rewarded. You have until midnight._"

Those inside the school had not heeded the warning, and as such the dark lord had ordered his Death Eaters to attack. They positioned themselves outside the castle, their enchantments joined together to break through those set by the defenders, the teachers of Hogwarts. What of the students? Where were they? Had Minerva thought to hide them from the terror to come? Severus shuddered inside as his own magic streamed together with those of his comrades, warping the wall of enchantment. For some reason he suspected Flitwick had been instrumental in setting that charm, it seemed right up his alley.

"Pour it on harder!" one of the Death Eaters screamed. "It's weakening!"

Sure enough, a section of air in front of them seemed to be wavering, a warbling, undulating wall of invisibility made somehow visible by its motion. Severus, situated behind the rest of the men attempting to force entry to the castle, reduced his stream of magic to a trickle, allowing it to butt up against the others, pushing their spells aside to prolong the moments. It was pitiful, but it was all he could do at present. With as many Death Eaters as there were, knowing the spells they knew, it wouldn't take long to burst through the barriers…to attack all that Severus had defended for so long. Inside he saw the entire castle shuddering and shaking from the force of the curses bent upon it.

Suddenly, as if struck by lightning, the protections fell from the castle with a thunderous crash. For a second the Death Eaters wavered; was it safe to pass, or were there more wards to barge through? From experience they knew that even touching the wrong ward might lead to death. Off to the side, near the covered bridge leading to the castle, Scabior—who obviously didn't know any better—thrust an arm through, then bellowed in triumph.

"It's done, they're broken!"

The crowd erupted in jubilant cheers as they raced forward toward the bridge. Severus thought he saw Sprout high up on the castle wall holding…a plant? What the hell was she thinking? Okay, maybe it was something dangerous, but it looked like a mandrake. Oh, crap! What was she thinking? The cry would kill Death Eaters, but any Hogwarts personnel who heard it as well!

As if that weren't bad enough, Severus saw Neville Longbottom on the bridge being chased by Scabior and other snatchers, turning to duel him at intervals. Snape was surprised by how much the boy seemed to know, how much he'd learned since being that idiot in Potions class who couldn't brew a pimple cream without melting his cauldron. Severus cast a quick glance about him, hoped no one was looking, and threw a curse at the bridge at the same instant Neville's hex rebounded off something. They struck simultaneously, exploding the wooden beams on the side of the stone circle. To anyone who might have seen, they'd assume Snape was aiming at the boy. The bridge fell, taking the snatchers with it into the ravine. The Death Eaters stopped, looking for another way in, and spotting the viaduct they raced for it. Already suits of armour from the castle had marched out to stand guard and bar the way.

In the distance Snape heard giants growling and calling in their guttural voices, but the smoke from the explosion had dimmed his view. He struggled through the mass, following the other Death Eaters toward the viaduct, every so often stunning one in the back, making him fall underfoot. Every Death Eater down was one less the defenders had to deal with. Giants had already stomped onto the viaduct, the suits of armour slowing them down only slightly, though two giants appeared to be dead. The Death Eaters weren't having much trouble with them, that's for sure! Metal suits were summarily blasted over the ledge again and again, crumpled like tin cans against the power of their curses. The threw curse beyond the viaduct into the courtyard and at the battlements, where castle defenders could be seen.

A piece of battlement shattered, and one of the Death Eaters apparated onto a catwalk, shot a killing curse, and a wizard fell down dead. The very idea sent more chills down Severus' spine. The anti-apparition barriers had been broken as well? Death Eaters could go almost anywhere if that were the case! He recognized members of the Order shooting spells at the Death Eaters, which marginally comforted him. At any rate there were a few real fighters present. Kingsley Shacklebolt cast a momentum-reversal spell that stopped another Death Eater from entering through a window—alright, at least they couldn't apparate directly into the castle.

"Severus! Severus!" came a voice from behind, wheezing and screaming at once over the din.

He turned to see Lucius, dirty and disheveled, face bruised, hair fallen in lank clumps over his shoulders, breathing hard, but above all looking scared to death, and Snape knew for a fact it wasn't because of the battle. He feared for Draco. Desperation shone in his eyes like a blinding light.

"Lucius, what are you doing here? You don't even have a wand!" He was set to tell him to pick up a wand from a fallen Death Eater, when Malfoy interrupted his line of thought.

"The dark lord—he wants you," Lucius panted, bending over to catch his breath. "He sent me to get you."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" shrieked Lucius frantically. "Just obey!"

Before Snape had a chance to answer, Lucius had taken off at a trot for the Shrieking Shack. Severus ran to catch up with him, and pulled Lucius down to a fast walk. "What's going on?"

Lucius stopped mid-stride, facing his friend, face set in a mask of turmoil and fury. "I. Don't. Know. He wants you for some task, that's all he said." A heartbeat passed, then he added pleadingly, "If he sends you to look for Potter, find Draco. Please, Severus, don't let him be hurt."

Snape put a hand on Lucius' shoulder, something he wasn't accustomed to doing yet it seemed the thing to do just now. "I'd never permit anything to befall Draco if it were in my power to stop it. You know that, Lucius."

Lucius bobbed his head in acknowledgement, then turned toward the shack. "He won't let me fight, he wants Draco dead so I'll suffer even more. I hate him, Severus, I hate him with everything in me!"

"I know," said Severus simply. While capable of hiding his thoughts—and therefore his friend's mutinous notions—through Occlumency, he wasn't quite so trusting of Lucius' ability to do the same. It was perhaps best to wait till he could share such ideas openly, freely. Would that day ever come?

Already they were closing in on the shack. What could the dark lord want from him? The only plausible thing seemed to be sending him to find Potter, which would be excellent, as he'd be in a position to help the brat find and destroy any horcruxes—that was why he'd come back to Hogwarts, wasn't it? Then again, the whelp wasn't known for being clever. No use in wondering, he'd find out soon enough.

Panting from hurrying across the field, from the sounds of fighting in the distance that could mean students were dying without him there to protect them, Severus burst into the room with Lucius. Out of habit he gave a quick glance about, finding no one there but Nagini in her cage in the corner. "My lord, you sent for me?" He didn't bother to kneel this time or prostrate himself.

"Yes, Severus," Voldemort answered, seeming almost distracted. To Lucius he waved a dismissive hand. "Return to the woods with the others. I shall be there shortly."

Lucius bowed while giving one last imploring gaze, which the dark wizard ignored. Beside himself with worry for his son, he bolted from the room, half-intent on storming the castle by himself to find Draco. Even as he left the shack, he knew he dared not do so; if one of the Death Eaters didn't kill him for trying to enter the castle, Voldemort would when he found him. He'd murder Draco first—assuming the boy was even still alive—while forcing his father to watch, then he'd butcher the elder Malfoy as well. On the verge of a breakdown, he stumbled back into the Forest to find Narcissa and the few Death Eaters not yet engaged in battle.

Snape's head swung back to the dark lord as his high voice rang out, "No doubt you wonder why I have recalled you from the battle, Severus?"

"Yes…yes, my lord. It's going well, we've broken through. Their resistance is crumbling—"

"—and it is doing so without your help," replied Voldemort. "Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there…"

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

_ I don't know why, since he is Voldemort after all, but I cannot believe he sicked that f—king snake on me!_

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

His blood and silvery blue memories draining from him, Severus Snape lay on the cold wooden floor of the Shrieking Shack, his hand clinging to Potter's robes as he prayed that the idiot boy would know what to do with them. He thought he saw Potter using his wand to move the memories into a flask, the first intelligent thing he could recall the brat ever doing.

Employing a gargantuan effort, he whispered, "Look…at…me."

The green eyes, Lily's eyes, looked into his, and for a moment Severus forgot it wasn't her. All the animosity, the frustration…the pain…vanished. Then, enfeebled from blood loss, Snape's hand fell back onto the floor, landing upon the wand he'd dropped earlier. Automatically his fingers curled around it, clenching it in his fist.

The horrid high voice of Lord Voldemort pierced the air, and what little blood was left in his veins caused his heart to leap. Harry jumped to his feet, understandably shaken, beside the Weasley and Granger brats. The three children stood like statues listening to the megalomaniac ramble on, then they rushed away.

_Damn you_, Severus wanted to shout after them, and would have if his torn throat would have allowed it. At least Hermione, the least dull of the three, could have tried her hand at healing him! Were they all actually thick enough to believe him dead? Then again, they were Gryffindorks; _thinking_ wasn't their strong suit.

With every bit of strength left in him, which was virtually none, Snape sluggishly lifted his wand, rested his arm across his chest, and aimed it at his throat. He clumsily scratched it over the surface of his neck while thinking the healing incantations. Once, twice, thrice he drew it across his neck, unable to see or feel exactly where it was needed. He did, however, feel the heartening sensation of wounds closing.

Panting from this small exertion, Severus dropped his hand to the floor with a 'clunk' as his knuckles struck the wood. With his other hand he ever so slowly reached into the pocket of his robe and fumbled around until his fingers grasped the bezoar he'd carried with him for no less than eighteen years; being a Potions master—a paranoid one—had seen to that. Painstakingly slowly he raised it to his mouth, and although he didn't know how much venom Nagini had injected, it was always best to be prudent. It hurt like a rabid squirrel in his throat going down, but he forced it nonetheless. He was used to pain.

_"…Now listen closely, Severus. There will come a time—after my death—do not argue, do not interrupt! There will come a time when Lord Voldemort will seem to fear for the life of his snake."_

_ "For Nagini?" Snape looked astonished._

_ "Precisely. If there comes a time when Lord Voldemort stops sending that snake forth to do his bidding, but keeps it safe beside him under magical protection, then, I think, it will be safe to tell Harry."_

_ "Tell him what?"_

Severus swallowed hard in his raw throat. His wand had healed the skin and blood vessels, yet another spell would be needed for inside—a potion, even better. A silent tear ran from his eye and rolled into his hair. Dumbledore had used him, had used Harry, and for what? This last, most important command to tell Harry, Severus had been unable to accomplish. If the fool boy didn't run to the pensieve and view those memories, it would all be for nothing. He wouldn't know that he _himself_ must die. Even if Potter somehow managed to pull another trick out of his ass and kill the dark lord, Harry—with Voldemort's soul—would survive. It wouldn't be over.

Too weak from blood loss to do anything but lay shivering in the sticky pool of his life's fluid, too weak even to meditate on the fate of the world if Harry failed to kill Voldemort…and himself…Severus closed his eyes and drifted into a dreamless unconsciousness.

It may have been hours, or only a few seconds, he had no way of knowing. Severus woke with a start and remembered where he was. He'd be damned if he was going to die here in this godforsaken shack, victim of the dark lord he'd fought for so long! His wand barely off the floor, he sent a heating charm around himself, then regrouped his strength for the next spell.

The doe patronus leapt from the end of his wand, stood as if awaiting instructions, and bounded out a broken window. It was all he could do; everything now rested on _her_. She wouldn't fail him.

He closed his eyes once more and slipped back into unconsciousness.

Xxxoooxxxoooxxxoooxxxooo

"Professor McGonagall, may I speak with you?"

"Harry, of course!" The old woman pulled him into a hard embrace, her emotions for once let completely loose, then she straightened with a little cough and patted the bun askew on her head.

Looking every bit as weary as he felt, Harry said, "I hate to burden you with one more thing, but…well, Sn—Professor Snape. He—he was on our side."

"I know, Harry, I heard what you told…Voldemort." She winced at the name and pinched her lips tight.

"He—his body is in the Shrieking Shack. Would you come with me to bring him here? He deserves to be honoured, not left to rot—"

"Mr. Potter, I certainly would not leave Severus 'to rot'. I'm honoured that you chose me to help you," answered Minerva stiffly. The guilt roiling in her mind at all the awful things she'd said and thought about Snape came roaring to a head. "Come along."

They exited the Hall, now silent save the snores of those too tired or injured to go home. The Death Eaters who hadn't escaped the fight or been killed had been dealt with courtesy of every available auror, and were now safely tucked away in Azkaban. Peace once more reigned in the halls of Hogwarts. In the unnaturally quiet mid-morning they made their way to the shack, neither one anxious to arrive.

Harry led the way to the room where he'd witnessed the murder of Snape, and stopped abruptly in the doorway, his mouth dropping open. Minerva, assuming him to be in shock, pushed past him in a businesslike manner and halted in place. A large, dark pool of dried blood lay on the floor, but there was no Snape.

"He was here, I swear!" Potter exclaimed.

For the briefest second Minerva hesitated. Potter had undergone a lot in these past months, culminating in terrible things he'd seen and been forced to do, even offering himself up for death. Could he be punchdrunk from fatigue? Hallucinating, perhaps? But no, it didn't fit. Not able to argue with the fact that _someone_ had lain here, and probably died here, Minerva nodded sagely. Harry had seen it, Voldemort had admitted to killing Snape here. So where was he?

"I believe you, Potter. The burning question is, who took his body and why?"

The End…or is it?

(**A/N**: For answers to these and many more questions, please visit my story _Death Eater No More_, available on this site. Reading _I, Too, Shall Follow_ first will provide a richer experience, but _Death Eater No More_ can stand alone. Enjoy, and thank you for reading. Very profuse thanks and gratitude to those who took the time to review.)


End file.
